


First Impressions For Grave Robbers

by caffeinatedmusing



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Action/Adventure, Canon-Typical Violence, College of Winterhold - Freeform, Developing Relationship, Drama, Dwemer Ruins, F/M, Family Dynamics, Humor, Interesting NPCs Mod, Tags to be added as necessary, Unplanned Pregnancy, grave robbing, rumarin being an ass, social anxiety of the altmer variety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-04-07 01:00:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 42
Words: 55,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14069466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caffeinatedmusing/pseuds/caffeinatedmusing
Summary: Calpurnia came to Skyrim to study magic at the College of Winterhold. Dragons, elder scrolls, and near death experiences were never a part of her plan. Neither was being asked to search old ruins for artifacts but with her expectations dashed and carefully laid plans destroyed by dragon fire and fate, the money becomes too good to pass up.Rumarin came to Skyrim to explore old tombs and hopefully, to get rich. But going it alone isn't all it's cracked up to be.It could be a partnership made in aetherius. Or a complete disaster.





	1. 1

Rumarin had been regretting his decision to travel out this far as soon as he’d noticed the darkening clouds. But it was his first real exploratory day beyond the city proper and he didn’t want to go back without at least _trying_. It wasn’t as though there were a lot of sites to choose from that one person could reasonable explore in day’s travel from the stables. 

If he could get together enough money, he might be able to start renting a room at the inn. Not that sleeping rent free in his weird friends’ stable’s hayloft wasn’t…er…. cozy…. He had mostly gotten used to the smell of horses. Ulundil had even given him a key so he was free to come and go as he pleased but he didn’t want to overstay his welcome. 

Just as he’d reached for the gate to see if it was locked, both sarcophagi had cracked open and skeletons had lunged for him. Backpedaling, one heel slipping on the ice, he’d barely brought his summoned bow up to fire in time.

A firebolt had seared past his ear, slamming the first skeleton to bits. His summoned and bound arrows, fired in a rapid succession brought on by panic, hit the other at the same moment that the next spells had.

On the double take, he could make out the destruction school tones of her college robes, real ones, peaking from beneath the hem of her coat. A pack as large as her entire torso made her look hunchbacked and bigger than she was. Behind her, the snow was coming down fast. 

_Just great. A mage. What did I ever do to deserve this?_

He braced himself for the inevitable derision when she realized he was only a bladebinder.

“Are you alright? Those skeletons must have surprised you.” 

Her accent was lovely. Breton. He wasn’t sure of the region; the days when he had been well traveled enough to correctly guess an accent to within twenty miles were long behind him. Something southern?

He realized she was frowning at him in concern. _Oh, right, the red on my face_ …. It must have looked, in the dim storm-light and to the eyes of a stranger, as if he’d been clawed.

“I’m fine. He gestured at the streaks across his cheekbones. “Don’t worry. This is just… makeup. No, sorry. _War paint._ ”

“Oh. Do you mind if I …?” She gestured to the gate. 

“Not at all. I think it’s locked and I’m all out of picks.” He _knew_ he’d been forgetting something when he’d put together his meager gear for this trip. 

He watched as she pulled her gloves off, blew on her fingers to warm them, and set to using the delicate metal instruments to pop the latch. The gated doors swung open. The chest that had been tantalizingly in view but unaccessable til now, went next. She parceled out the weapons, armor, gold, jewelry, and a scroll onto one of the chipped, worn stone slab tables and gestured for him to take his pick. 

“Oh, well, you go ahead. You got the skeletons after all. And I prefer to travel light.” It seemed crass to expect a share of the loot when she’d probably just saved his life.

“I don’t really need any of it.” She shrugged and watched him scoop up a handful of coins and a ring that looked like it might be worth something. Once he’d pocketed them, she selected the necklace, an enchanted dagger, and the scroll. “I was just looking for a place to shelter until this blows over.”

Despite her heavy coat and boots, she was shivering. And the snow was swirling down in sheets and dizzying spirals now. Come to think of it, his toes had gone numb ages ago. _How could a blizzard this bad come up so fast? It had been partly sunny when he’d left this morning._

“I don’t know about you,” He ventured, “But I don’t fancy trying to make it back down that incline in this?” Yorgrim’s Overlook was, as the name suggested, situated high above the road on the side of a steep and rocky ravine.

He’d lose his way in this; he didn’t know the road back well enough to attempt it. And he didn’t want to end up as some winter-starved wolf’s dinner. 

She laughed and shook her head. “I was planning on sliding back down on my butt; risk breaking a leg, otherwise. But it’s getting dark and too cold to go any farther. The next inn isn’t for miles.” 

He wondered if she meant Candlehearth or a different one. 

“We say ‘break legs’ for luck to actors about to go onstage. Not to adventurers. In any case, I don’t suppose you happen to have any firewood in that apartment you’re carrying around?” 

She did, in fact, have some firewood. They got a small blaze going, protected as much from the wind as possible in the small crumbling ruin. She even shared her leftover food, which he appreciated, because his plan that morning had been to be back in Windhelm in time for dinner, not to get stranded overnight hungry and freezing in an old Nord tomb that barely even qualified as such. 

“What is your name?”

“Rumarin, although most people call me insufferable. Professional adventurer, bladebinder, and grave robber, at your service. And you are?”

“Calpurnia. Adventurer, mage, and a few other things besides.” She offered one small hand and he shook it, his own palm engulfing hers. 

They made small talk over the food. The fire would not last all night but a blizzard like this might. It was too cold to risk falling asleep. That left conversation to fill in the time. He told her about growing up on the road, amidst a troupe of actors, musicians, jugglers, comedians, and other performers. 

“We traveled all across the Empire. Shows every night in the major cities, two or three times a week in the lessor ones, months of planning in between. And a lot of time on the road.” 

“So, then you came to Skyrim to, what, loot old tombs?”

“No. Yes. Well, not exactly. I had a standing invitation to visit some friends of mine; they own the stables in Windhelm now. Once I got here, I found out about the civil war and the general dislike of all things _mer_ , and the terrible weather. So, getting a regular job doesn’t seem too likely. Not that I’d want one; I’m not cut out for that sort of thing. Too dull. Too much work.”

Calpurnia snorted into her mug. “That sounds like my younger brother. But why old Nord tombs?”

“No one seems to mind so long as you don’t go bragging. ‘Hey, you Nords, I just rifled through your great great granny’s knickers and I’m going to sell what I found there for three times what she paid!’ It might be worth it for the look on their faces, but I hate running for my life. Mainly, though, it’s history which is interesting and worth exploring. Especially when it pays for itself.” 

He paused to warm his hands closer to the fire and studied her for a bit. The firelight cast flickering shadows across her face and warmed the color of her hair and skin inside the frame of her fur lined hood. Her face was small and pointed with a distinct merish cast to her features. She reminded him of the fox he’d seen running across the road on his way out here. Or maybe the color of her hair had led him to make that comparison. 

“You’re from the southern part of High Rock, aren’t you? Why are you here?”

“I told you, I wanted to get out of the blizzard.” She tilted her head, brushing a stray strand of windblown hair out of her face as she continued, her tone shifting away from teasing to more matter- of- fact.

“But you mean why I came to Skyrim? Hm. It’s a dull little tale. Skyrim isn’t the only civil war going on, you see. There are all sorts of battles and coups back home. Land grabs, nobles building up small armies, entire families assassinated.” 

“My grandfather passed away two years ago. My brother and I were trying to decide what to do with his estate. All we had was a small house and the little workshop grandfather ran before he died. Then my brother was murdered. Not long after, I was approached by one man with an offer to buy out the estate, and then by a rival of his with an offer of marriage. Neither had a good reputation. I didn’t want to get caught in the middle, so I sold it all and came here. My plan was always to enroll in the College. But, as you discovered, people are willing to pay capable adventurers well to go into these old places and find things. And if I profit from what else I find in there…” She broke off with a shrug. 

“Wow. I’m …. sorry about your brother.” He shifted, feeling a bit awkward at her openness, and changed the subject. “So you do go to the college, then? I thought those were the robes of a student destruction mage.”

“You, too, yes? I haven’t seen you on campus.” She leaned forward, trying to peer more closely at the bits of purple and embroidered gold beneath his cloak.

“Oh, no. These are… fake.” He plucked at section of his collar. “Convincing, though. They cost me enough. It keeps people from asking too many questions since they think I’m affiliated and I get to go about my business in peace. Relatively speaking, of course.”

“But, that thing you did, with the arrows? How does that work if you’re not a mage?”

“Technically, I guess it is part of the Conjuration school.” Rumarin launched into his explanation. “The bow and my swords are just energy pulled from the plane of Oblivion. A first- tier spell, but I’m lazy so it’s the only one I know. And it means I don’t have to carry traditional weapons.” 

He eyed the bow and quiver in amongst her pile of belongings.

“Don’t they teach conjuration at the mages college?”

“They do, but I haven’t studied that yet. It sounds really useful.” She sounded wistful.

Huh. That was new. Usually, it was scorn. Rumarin decided he liked this mage, so far.

“So, are you ditching classes? Or is this a semester break and you thought a bit of exploring and dispatching undead was the way to spend it?”

“I think, the best way to learn magic is to use it.” Calpurnia settled in to explain. “But classrooms are controlled environments and life is not. So, here I am, making my way across Skyrim, exploring and dispatching undead, as you put it. And getting paid a fair bit of coin for it, too. Plus, I get a bonus from the College for any artifacts I bring back.” 

She went on to tell him about getting delayed in her travels and arriving unceremoniously in the middle of the semester. After being grudgingly accepted, she had tested out of the novice and apprentice level classes. Adepts got to select a course of study to specialize in and often worked assisting the senior students and faculty with their projects. Given her experience, however, she had been given something of a free rein to select her own assignments. He gathered that she had a mentor she was supposed to check in with every so often, but aside from that, she was on her own. 

That sounded like an excellent deal. Exploring on his own hadn’t turned out to be such a great idea. By the end of the meal, Rumarin found himself asking if she wanted to travel together. He was as surprised at himself for asking as he was with her response.

“Alright. But just so you know, I’m going after an elder scroll.”

_Well, that can’t be true._ He related a funny story Otero had once told him about finding an elder scroll in the woods. She chuckled but didn’t change her claim. 

He was put in mind of an old proverb involving Khajiit and the potentially lethal nature of curiosity.

_There’s a story here and so help me, I want to know what it is._


	2. Chapter 2

All lies, aggrandizements, and expectations of disappointment aside, Rumarin knew he could have done a lot worse for a traveling companion. 

Calpurnia believed in regular meals, getting a full night’s sleep whenever possible, and lingering over coffee. While not as good a cook as he was, what she did make was usually edible. She even laughed at his jokes. Most of them, anyway. She had a great laugh, too, heartfelt and playful. The rest of the time she would sigh and roll her eyes while making a kind of disappointed face at him.

Still, it was a better audience reaction than he’d hoped for. She also smelled good; regular use of soap and water topped off with a dab of perfume. And she carried all sorts of useful things in that pack of hers which meant he didn’t have to. 

Not that things were perfect. They argued and stepped on each other’s metaphorical toes some. She was just as used to being alone as he was. Both had set ways of doing things. And it took time to get accustomed to having to share close space again. Rumarin, having traveled in close quarters with a large group when he was younger, at least had some memories and experiences about having no privacy to fall back on. Cal…. she didn’t seem to be used to having anyone outside of her immediate family in close proximity. It made for more than a few awkward moments. 

Overall, the petite Breton didn’t strike him as the sort of person who had previously spent a lot of time outdoors much less traveling at all. 

This was confirmed when she confessed that prior to leaving for Skyrim, she had never gone farther from home than the nearest city.

He wondered how she had ended up becoming an adventurer. By all appearances, she would have been more at home lounging in a sitting room somewhere, discussing something suitably erudite like politics or art. Or maybe managing an international company of some kind. But here she was instead, tearing her fingernails climbing up rocky cliff faces, hauling half again her own body weight in camping gear and looted valuables while testing her magical skill against undead, vicious beasts, bandits, and dragons.

_Dragons._

They had been trekking through one of the mountain passes to the west of Windhelm when the creature had launched itself off a high cliff face and come circling around like an overgrown vulture. As Rumarin got his first up- close look, he’d felt his knees nearly give way when it came crashing down to land. Somehow, he hadn’t figured on them being quite _that_ big. 

_There’s nothing for a storyteller to exaggerate here. And that’s really saying something!_

Screaming nonsensical insults at it had bolstered his courage enough to keep firing, keep moving. That and the fact that Cal was hitting it with everything she had. Firebolt raised blisters across it’s neck and charred the thin membrane of its wings while something lightning based crackled and sparked about its face. 

His summoned arrows bounced off it’s larger armored scales, only biting into the delicate areas around its throat, jaw, or beneath the wings, and then only just barely. Horrified, he’d redoubled his efforts. _Could Oblivion run out of arrows? Was there some Daedric being at this very moment, on another plane, struggling to keep up on production?_ Rumarin didn’t know. It seemed dangerous to consider too closely.

Five foot nothing Cal facing off against that winged giant of a lizard who could breathe a winter’s worth of frost in one carrion-reeking gust, who could have swallowed them both whole simultaneously without too much effort, was a memory Rumarin was going to treasure until the day he died. And have nightmares about.

And that wasn’t even counting what happened after when the dragon’s body burned up. Watching her small body suffused with the light and energy of the dragon’s soul had left him questioning reality some. Was he hallucinating on something?

Except, they hadn’t been picking wild mushrooms to season their meals, and unless dragons themselves exuded something that altered perceptions, and _wasn’t that entirely possible?_ Rumarin had heard that there were types of toads some people licked to get high, why not a reptile? _I’m not licking it to find out._

By the time his scattered thoughts had refocused enough to ask her _what in Oblivion had just happened_ , she looked so tired and upset that he just …let it go. For the time being, anyway.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” Her lip quivered and her voice didn’t sound quite right.

“Oh, no, please don’t cry. I’m terrible at comforting people; I never know what to say. So then I end up saying something stupid and it just makes things worse.” He folded his arms across his chest and turned partly away from her to give her some privacy, instead focusing his attention on shoving around a large shiny scale with the toe of his boot, trying unsuccessfully to flip it over.

She swiped at her eyes with a gloved thumb and nodded, sniffing in a long breath and exhaling in a cloud of steam. 

“Let’s just go. I can tell you later. I don’t feel like talking right now, though.”

“Fair enough. What’s the plan, then?”

“We keep heading north, up into the mountains. The scroll is supposed to be in an old Dwemer city.”

“How did you find out where to look?”

Her eyes widened and she chewed her lip for a bit before her shoulders dropped in a clear decision to be honest.

“A crazy old hermit living in an ice cave out on the Sea of Ghosts told me.”

“……” Rumarin stopped in his tracks.

Calpurnia kept walking. 

“Cal? That’s not true, is it?” He called after her. “Because questioning the veracity of a source is one thing, but if you have to question the sanity as well, then maybe this isn’t quite the best idea...? Cal?”

She trudged back and smiled up at him. There were shadows under her eyes, making the gray of her irises look darker.

“I know it sounds like I’m taking a wild chance on a strange man’s rumor. But, strange as it may be, these things have really been falling into line for me. I’m sure we’ll find something.” She looked up at him and he got the distinct impression it wasn’t so much _him_ she was trying to convince as it was herself.

“Are you certain the hermit was the crazy one? ‘Falling into line’? What is that even supposed to mean, exactly? Sorry if I’m out of place asking, but I was expecting some kind of…evidence. Something tangible like a book or a map or… something.”

“I said I know how it sounds.” She snapped. “I searched that whole library! This was the only lead. Do you have some better idea? Because I don’t know where else to look other than to start by ruling this out. And you hate books!”

“Well, that is true. Look, I wasn’t questioning _you_ , not exactly. Just…all of this.” He scrubbed a hand up over his face, stopping belatedly when he felt his thumb smear against the streaks on his cheek. _Great, now I look like an idiot who doesn’t know how to do his own makeup. War paint. Whatever._

“Alright then, Mr. Professional Adventurer. How many Dwemer ruins have _you_ explored?”

“Um, well…none. Always seemed like biting off more than I could chew. And you know how much I love food, so…” 

“Then isn’t it worth it to check for that alone? We really are bound to find something of value, even if the scroll isn’t there.”

Well, she had a point. A Dwemer city wasn’t something you wandered into by yourself unless you had a death wish. And that meant most of what was inside was probably undisturbed…

_What am I getting myself into?_

He shrugged and gestured for her to lead the way.


	3. Chapter 3

About the time they made their way to the heart of the Dwemer ruins to gaze at the enormous apparatus that should, in theory, get them an Elder Scroll, Rumarin had come to understand that Calpurnia was really adventuring on a whole different level. 

She was a believer. She really expected to find this thing. Oh, sure, she pretended not to. She hadn’t lied when she said she knew how it sounded. But the further into the ruins they got, the more keyed up she became, until he could practically see the anticipation radiating off her. 

They entered the observatory and the only thing in their way was to puzzle out a control panel of some sort. How did it work? Which, damn her crazy old cave-dwelling source, but he had been correct about the cube he’d given her. Cal strode around the room, studying the hinges and lenses, the crystals set around the domed ceiling at regular intervals. 

“I think we are meant to set it to a particular position. And then it will do…something.”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” Rumarin watched her set the cube into the pedestal and begin pressing buttons, noting their effects. He wasn’t much for things like this. Now, if the final test had been a pun competition or some sort of improvised comedy routine, those he could have done. But watching Cal’s face as she worked out what the controls did, he realized that firstly, she was quite possibly one of the most brilliant people he had ever met. 

Her mind wasn’t dependent on the sort of textbook memorization that bored him to tears. She was a quick thinker, imaginative and willing to try the improbable. Like searching for an Elder Scroll in an old Dwemer ruin. She was also tempered by compassion and had gained enough experience by now to exercise caution when it was warranted. He couldn’t fathom how powerful and influential a mage she might become with a few more decades experience. 

Secondly, she was going to be absolutely crushed if it turned out that there was nothing here. Which was what he was expecting to find. He had no idea how he was going to cheer her up when that happened.

“Well, here goes nothing.” Cal bit her lip and pressed the final button; the lensed contraption whirred and swung into its final position. There was a grinding, shifting sound. Dust and bits of stone and tile roofing sections fell in as a window opened in the roof high above them. Cold air rushed down. Rumarin raised an arm to shield his eyes; the glare of clear blue sky after the time spent crawling through dark and partly ruined halls was eye wateringly painful. 

But when his vision had adjusted, he looked first to Calpurnia. Her small face glowed in the reflected light, awestruck.

He followed her gaze. 

There, lowered in some sort of weather proof glass tube, cracked open and displayed for retrieval at the top of the observatory walkway was…. was….

_An Elder Scroll._

For the first time in long while, Rumarin was at a complete loss for words.


	4. Chapter 4

“Now what?” 

They sat together on the edge of the crumbling foundation that stretched out around the remains of the Dwemer tower they had exited from. Their legs dangled over, feet swinging above snowcapped mountain peaks. The sun was setting and the colors at this elevation were too spectacular to pass up. They watched the sky shift slowly from deep azure blues into indigos and rosy ember orange at the far distant horizon. The last rays sparked gold fire off the metallic roofing tiles of the citadels decayed turrets and towers. 

Rumarin sighed, content. He was tired, but his pockets were filled with small gems and bits of pricey dwemer metals. The fire they had built at their backs was warming him. They’d eaten a bit; meat jerky, dried fruit, and stale bread with cups of hot tea. All in all, he was feeling pretty good about this particular adventure. But that scroll was leaning in with Cal’s things, strapped to her pack, and taunting him with a continued sense of unreality.

“Now we head back down and get real food and some sleep in a real bed.”

“Right. Sounds good. I just meant, with the scroll. Can we just waltz into any old town with this thing? You’re not worried someone might try to steal it?”

“I have to take it to the top of the Throat of the World. I’m supposed to read it there to learn a kind of Dragon Shout that got lost to time. And why would someone steal it? They wouldn’t be able to do anything with it.”

“So…we needed to get this scroll out of one mountain top to go and take it to another? Why not just read it here?”

“It will only work at the same spot where it was used before. Or so Paarthunaax thinks.”

“Is that your mentor at the college? Or the hermit who gave you that box thingy?”

“No.” She snorted, an indelicate sound and shook her head.” Sorry, I keep forgetting you don’t know what’s been going on. Paarthunaax is a dragon. A really old dragon. And he is sort of my mentor, but he mostly mentors for the Greybeards who live in the monastery there. They are all trying to help me learn about being dragonborn.”

“Couldn’t they just give you something normal? Like build an entire city in less than a day… Maybe defeat an army of daedra single handedly. No, wait, that one’s been done. Or…” 

He tried to think of other suitably impossible sorts of things that heroes of legend had been tasked with. How many plays had he helped put on that were based on these very tales? Update the humor, construct at least one large- scale set design with painted backdrops, throw in a dash of suitably tragic romance; audiences ate this stuff up.

 _So why couldn’t he?_ When he’d been young, it had been a favored daydream of his; to become the hapless tag along on some mythical journey that would reveal him to be the hero destined to save the world from evil. He recalled hours spent neglecting his studies, staring out the carriage window, imagining giants, sea serpents, dragons, evil sorcerers, castles that reached into the clouds; anything and everything to make the tedious hours go by quicker.

At some point he’d outgrown the habit. Probably around the same time he’d stopped believing that heroes existed, and that evil was anything other than utterly mundane.

Pushing up one sleeve, he dug the nails of finger and thumb into his arm until a dark purple welt appeared.

“Ow! Son of a-” He rubbed the spot to ease the bruise.

“What did you do that for?!” Calpurnia eyed him, alarmed.

“Sorry. Just pinching myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming all of this.” He shrugged an apology and glanced back at the scroll. 

“You don’t believe me.” Her mouth curled downward, eyes shifting to watch the snow beneath her feet fade into purple shadows.

“Does any of it depend on me believing you?”

“No. I don’t think so.”

“Well, then give me some time to adjust, will you. My imagination and sense of disbelief aren’t as flexible as they used to be. Now can we please head back down to civilization, or whatever the nearest approximation might be? I process the unbelievable better on a full stomach. Besides, the sun’s gone down now and my legs are falling asleep.”

He reached down and offered her a hand up. She hesitated a moment and then accepted with a sigh, letting him haul her up to her feet.

They packed up, doused the fire, and followed the remains of an ancient roadway half buried under the snow as it wound its way down and around the peaks of the mountain, illuminated by the light from two full moons, before disappearing in a sparse spruce wood at the tree line.


	5. Chapter 5

“I thought we were headed up another mountain?” Rumarin paused in the doorway, confused.

“Not yet.” 

They were heading out of the Inn they had stayed at, someplace called the Night Gate. Which sounded ominous to Rumarin; it put him in mind of the sort of names that Inn’s in murder mysteries always had. He’d even checked under the bed last night. Still, it had been a relief to sleep indoors. 

“Then where to next?”

“We need to drop the scroll off at the college. They have a special vault for powerful artifacts. It will be safe there. I’m not ready to try reading it yet. Not when it means I’ll probably have to fight Alduin. I thought it would take much longer to find. But since we have time, I thought, we should look for more old ruins to explore. Maybe rid the world of some more bandits, that sort of thing.”

She had told him the truncated version of finding out she was dragonborn and how the world eater was resurrecting the dragons. He had done all he could to listen with a straight face, difficult as that was at times. But she believed it. 

And with an actual elder scroll hanging off her pack, he was starting to believe it, too. That was what scared him.

“That would be alright with me. I can always stand to liberate a few more corpses of their unnecessary wealth. What does a draugr need pocket change for anyway?”

“I don’t know. Do you think they gamble with it? I would. All that sitting around being dead with nothing to do sounds boring.”

“Right. We’re doing them a favor, saving them from an addictive vice.” Rumarin grinned. 

“I just need to stop and see if there’s courier first.” She headed to the counter to ask the innkeeper.

He waited by the door and couldn’t help but notice the sealed letter she handed off, or the coin she paid for the delivery, or that her boisterous mood had sobered by the time she got back.

He debated asking her who she was writing to but brushed it off as none of his business.

They headed out, turning east along the road, through steep ravines that stayed shaded from the mid-morning sun, until they made it to foothills that overlooked the sea. Then the land opened; sliding away in snowy wind- swept bluffs dotted with winter dead scrub and the skeletal branches of an occasional stunted tree down to the water. Off in the distance, a large shape that was probably a bear, lumbered along minding its own business. They took the road north towards Winterhold, squinting as the wind blew road grit and bits of ice into their faces. 

It was early evening by the time they reached the campus gates.

Rumarin wasn’t sure what he had expected the College to be like. Their reputation rumored an old and vaunted school, but what his eyes told him was that this was nearer to being yet one more ruin dotting the landscape of Skyrim, a reminder of better days long gone by.

The buildings were in disrepair. Wooden scaffolding and rope marked off the worst areas, but no work was being done.

There were hardly any students. A campus that size ought to have been swarming with people. Instead, solitary figures or small groups rushed like shadows, about their own business in a hurry to get out of the cold. 

Once indoors, the high ceilings echoed every small noise, including the fitful hissing of the torches and the drip of leakage and old plumbing. There was a faint mildew scent in the air. Some of the wings were shut off entirely, the rooms no longer used and so not worth lighting or heating. Common areas were being used for storage.

She led him around and up a flight of narrow spiraling stairs to the foyer of what turned out to be the library. Glass display cases housed books and scrolls as well as examples of weapons and armor. A battered globe sat in one corner, depicting all of Nirn. Aside from one or two people reading, it was as deserted as the rest of the campus. 

Cal headed straight for one of the figures leaning over a table near the center of the room.

“Ah, Calpurnia. You’ve returned. How fare’s your search?” An aged dunmer in elaborate robes looked up from the table where he had spread out several books and had been paging through them.

“Hello, Archmage. It went better than I had expected.” She turned so he could see the scroll laced to her pack. 

Rumarin winced and wondered how much trouble he might be in for his set of knock off robes. He swallowed his nervousness and kept his eyes downcast, avoiding attention. Fortunately, it was damned hard to upstage an Elder Scroll. 

“Wonderful.” The Archmage reached as though he were going to touch it, but then withdrew his hand. “You’d best get that to Urag so he can lock it up for you before he closes for the night. And check in with Tolfdir; I believe he had something for you.”

“I will. Goodnight, Archmage.”

“Goodnight” He went back to his books.

They found Urag, the librarian, grumbling to himself as he set a final stack of books on the shelf designated for returns. Unlike the Archmage, he did touch the scroll, taking it gently from Cal’s outstretched hands with so much awe and reverence that Rumarin got goosebumps watching him. Once the scroll was settled in and secured, they headed to the students wing so Cal could show him her dorm room. It was tiny, dimly lit, and depressing. No wonder she never stayed there…

They were on their way to check in with Tolfdir, when he caught sight of a lean dark shadow with perfect hair lounging insolently in the darkened doorway of one of the other novice dorm rooms, eyes on the two of them and a sneer on his lips. 

“Sketch yourself a picture; it’ll last longer.” Rumarin called out. Something about that other altmer set him off. 

A muffled snort of laughter came from one of the other rooms as another student overheard him.

“That’s Ancano; our Thalmor ‘liaison’. He’s an asshole.”

“Does he always stare at people like that? It’s creepy.”

“Everyone here is convinced he’s a spy, but as he hasn’t actually done anything, we can’t get rid of him yet. We just prank him and feed him false info instead.”

“Ah, the true College experience. What else did I miss out on?” 

They found Tolfdir in the alchemy lab, searching through boxes and behind stacks of ingredients.

“What are you looking for?”

“What? Oh, Calpurnia, hello. I’ve lost my alembic again. I swear I just had it a moment ago. You haven’t seen it anywhere, have you?”

Cal and Rumarin exchanged a look before Cal pointed to the alembic on the floor under the alchemy bench. 

“Oh, good heavens, I must have set it down when I needed the extra space for my recipe book. You’re a life saver Calpurnia, honestly. One more thing before I forget; I’m planning on taking the novice class down to tour the excavation at Saarthal week after next. Since you have experience exploring old ruins, I was wondering if you’d like to join us.”

“That sounds interesting. I’ll try to be back in time to do that.” 

They left the absentminded professor just as he was setting the alembic back down on a crate. 

On the way across campus to the gates, another mage, a bosmer came jogging out from the shadow of the arches across the way to catch up to them. 

“Hi, Enthir. What do you want?”

“What makes you think I want something?” The elf glanced around to see if anyone else was in earshot. “Maybe I just wanted to say hello.”

“You never say hello. And you never run.” Cal crossed her arms over her chest and stuck her chin out, waiting.

“Fine. But you didn’t hear this from me, got it?” 

“Enthir who?” She arched a brow. “Rumarin, did you hear something?”

_She’d make a pretty good actress. Next comes the foot tapping and all the cues for ‘impatient’ will be there._

“Very funny.” Enthir snorted. “Alright, I want something. You’ve been helping Arniel with that obnoxious ‘secret project’ of his? I had a deal with him fall through; it was a sure thing right up until it wasn’t. I’m stuck here unable to find out what happened.”

“And you want me to look into it?”

“Could you? I’d owe you.”

“What is it and who has it?”

“A staff. I’ve traced it to a cave southeast of Kynesgrove. Um, the person who took it might not be amenable to parting with it though, so, you know, just be careful.”

“Enthir,” She rolled her eyes and sighed, exasperated. “You are going to owe me _a lot_ for this.”

“Deal!” He wheeled around and headed back towards the main building. “Thanks, Cal!”

“Let me get this straight,” Rumarin glanced back over his shoulder as the figure of the shady bosmer vanished through a door. “Instead of taking classes, this entire college has you running odd jobs for them?”

By the time they headed back down the broken remains of the bridge, the sun was setting behind the mountains and Winterhold had been plunged into deep shadow, with only a hint of light still touching the top of the highest tower on the campus. They made their way towards the Inn to get a late meal and maybe something to drink.

“No! Well…. Not everyone.”

“Tolfdir is your mentor, though. So…why’d he ask you if you would join them? Shouldn’t he have just told you to be there?”

“He’s a gentle sort. It’s not his style to order anyone to do anything. Why?”

“Well, I just think it’s odd, is all. You’re using your magic a lot more than any of the other students. You’ve been introduced to all the senior students and faculty, too, haven’t you?”

They were, as luck would have it, not the only late arrivals at the Frozen Heath. Rumarin shivered from the name alone. _Terrible_. Calling it something like Blazing Hearth or Cozy Hearth would have at least made it _sound_ warm. Maybe attracted more business. 

Most of the tables were empty as they sat down with their drinks and bowls of beef stew, continuing the conversation once Cal had swallowed her first mouthful and could answer him.

“Of course, I have.”

Rumarin nodded. It fit with the theory he was building.

“And they ask you for things. Try to work around your schedule. Almost as though you outrank them. Haven’t you noticed it?”

“You are getting at something?”

“Cal, I don’t think this, the way you are being trained, is normal for just any mage. It only makes sense if they want you for a leadership position.”

“That makes _no_ sense.” She shook her head, snorting in derision. “I arrived this year. They are only holding off until they have a better idea of where to place me among the senior students next semester.”

“Has your mentor or anyone else, told you that is what’s happening?”

“Well, no, but…. no. Rumarin, they can’t possibly….”

“Cal, that place is in trouble. It’s a dump. They probably can’t attract good instructors anymore. Or even halfway decent ones. The Archmage looks like he’s about retirement age. Who have they got to replace him? Of course they’re going to snap up anyone halfway competent. And you’re more than competent.”

“There’s Mirabelle, Arniel, Tolfdir…” Calpurnia began listing names off on her fingers.

“How many of them have traveled as much as you have? Or are willing to network across all the schools without playing favorites? Or are doing the actual work it takes to keep that place running? Like I said, you’re more than competent.”

Her mouth opened and closed her mouth a few times, shaking her head, but no sound came out. 

“I can’t. I wanted that, you know. I did. It was why I came here, but now it’s all gone wrong. I have this dragonborn nonsense to deal with; I screwed it all up. I can’t” She pressed her hands together over her mouth and nose to try and cover the way her breathing had just gone shaky like she was going to cry again.

Rumarin felt cold; he hadn’t meant to send her into a panic.

“Look, it’s nothing to get worried about right now. Even if I’m right, and maybe I’m not, it will still take years. So, no pressure or anything. I mean, they haven’t even told you if that’s what they’re doing. You have time.” 

She took a deep shuddering breath and steadied herself, nodding. 

“You’re right. It’s not all right now. Maybe, maybe someday I can still have this.”

“And by that time, maybe you’ll have gotten rich from all the stuff they ask you to do. So, win-win, right?”

That got a watery smile and the cold knot in his stomach relaxed. She was pulling herself together.

Brilliant, capable, optimistic, with a focus for long term goals, and self- disciplined.

No wonder the college was grooming her for the ranks of the archmagi.


	6. Chapter 6

_“Ancano?!_ Please tell me you’re joking. Are you seriously telling me,” Rumarin gaped at her, “that you pity-fucked a suspected Thalmor spy?! And that the whole class knows? Oh, gods, no wonder he looked so sour.”

Cal’s cheeks burned and she pressed her lips together to keep from laughing in mortification at her own past decisions.

“I did not think of it like that when it happened. But looking back, yes, that might be exactly what I did? I was having a crap week, regretting that I had come all that way. I mean, you saw the place. It doesn’t match the reputation, does it?”

Rumarin shook his head in agreement.

“I got very drunk. Ancano caught me. I thought he was going to report me for it but at that point, I didn’t care. So I offered to share; I was not expecting him to take me up on that.”

“Anyway, we talked about how much we hated it there, how lonely and homesick we both were. You know, he’s been there longer than I have, and he’s never unpacked; he’s just living out of the boxes.” 

“I admit it; I felt sorry for him. As sorry as I was feeling for myself, it was not out of my way. I hoped that maybe underneath all the self- importance and the nosiness, he might not be such a bad guy. I was wrong. He was worse the next day. And, you saw, it’s a really small dorm. Everyone knew.”

“Does that make me a horrible person?”

But Rumarin was laughing so hard he couldn’t answer her.

“I have a question for you, though.” She waited until he had straightened up, gasping and wiping a tear from his eye.

“Oh no, we’re not doing the questions game. I hate that one. I’m really good at that alphabet game; widdershins. Otero and I used to play all the time. Alphabet game, it is.”

Cal went on as if she hadn’t heard him.

“You said ‘What else have I missed’ when I mentioned we play pranks on him.”

“I did?” 

“You did.”

“I must have meant the pranks…I’m a sucker for a good prank.”

“No, I don’t think so. You said, ‘The true college experience’ and then you said that. What was your college like?”

“Ugh, I really don’t want to…I was a terrible student, alright. Half a half-wit. I didn’t get along with the instructors or the other students. In short, I hated it.”

“Oh, so you were the one who got pranked, then. Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”

“What do I get for it?” He waggled his eyebrows at her.

“What?!” She looked askance at him.

“Well, I think you owe me an alphabet game now, to make up for it.”

“All you want is one game?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“You lose!”

“Wait, what? You were…. oh, gods, I walked right into that too, didn’t I.”

Calpurnia smirked, nodding. She looked pleased with herself. 

They passed the rest of the evening in more comfortable conversation. 

The next morning, they were off towards the opposite side of Skyrim, looking for the site of a word wall the Greybeards had given her; somewhere in the mountains southwest of Solitude. They kept their eyes open for any bounties or notices they could do in short order that might pay enough to keep them in food and indoor sleeping arrangements for the foreseeable future. 

They cleared a few bandit outposts, raided one cave in search of rumored treasure that turned out not to be there, and ended up in a town called Dragons Bridge, aptly named for the bridge capped by weather softened heads carved in the likeness of its namesake.

Rumarin didn’t like to think about how old that bridge must be. He hoped it got regular maintenance. Unlike so many structures ancient Nords or the Empire had built in eras past. The gorge it spanned was not one he thought might be survivable if someone went over the side. Cal went right up to the edge and leaned over to look. 

“They should really put lanterns or mage lights up in their mouths.” She commented, gazing at he immense structures overhead as they walked down the far side.

“That would be a good look. Easier to see at night, too. Maybe they could even make them breathe fire; we had a mage in our troupe for a few years and she could work up all kinds of special effects like that.” 

“I would love to see magic like that.”

The notice board posted outside the barracks didn’t have any jobs per se, but there was one warning to travelers about carriages being attacked and people going missing. 

“That’s odd. There’s no amount listed.” Rumarin frowned and flagged down a guard wandering by.

“Well, the thing is, there’s a group already signed on to take that.”

“Nevermind, then.” Cal shrugged it off. “Let’s go see about this word wall the greybeards want me to look at and if we still want more to do after that, we can check back.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

They headed off in the direction marked on their map.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *chapter content alert for spiders and terrible spider related humor.*

“An old ruin. Nord by the look of it.” Rumarin shaded his eyes and gazed across at the stonework walkways, vaults, and staircases before them.

“Who else would have a word wall?”

“Good point.”

Volskygge was situated in a clearing, backing up into the mountain behind it. From the outside it appeared to be expansive and the layout hinted at a much larger structure underground. The scent of wood smoke and something roasting told them it was not empty.

They headed down the stairs, weapons drawn, stopping at the sound of a voice calling out.

“Who goes there?”

A man in mismatched leather armor, with a wicked looking sword in hand, stepped out to challenge them, calling the rest of his fellow bandits to the alarm.

The fight was brief. Bandits really didn’t like being set on fire. Cal’s spells also kept them at perfect range for Rumarin to shoot. 

Rifling through their pockets afterward didn’t yield much. And the roast they had smelled turned out to be a skeever, skewered whole with the fur still on and starting to char.

“Ew. Who in their right mind eats _skeever_?” Cal made a retching noise and pushed it away from the fire.

“The same kind who think killing people and taking their stuff is a good way to make money.”

She stared at him, lips pursed, and one brow arched.

“I don’t mean us! We never would have killed them at all if they hadn’t attacked us first. And they stole this stuff to begin with so we’re just…. redistributing it.”

“And the skeever?” 

“Please. I would have at least seasoned it with some garlic and spring onions. Paired it with a nice alto white.”

“It’s good you keep this distinction, though, yes?” Cal shook her head in revulsion and walked away, laughing. 

The bandit group did not appear to have been in residence for very long and hadn’t amassed anything of value. After a last cursory look around, Cal tucked a few potions they’d found into her pack and they moved deeper into the ruin.

What few where left of the bandit gang were found exploring the ruins and not having much success. Even less when summoned arrows slammed into them and lighting and ice spikes sent them spinning to the ground. 

“Did you ever think about it?” Cal asked as she scowled, tongue between her teeth, and struggled to pick the lock on a cage preventing them from reaching a lever; the purpose of which neither of them knew at present.

“Becoming a bandit? Eh, no, not really. It’s more about getting to commit violence, for them. You?”

“Yes. I thought about it. I think, I was never desperate enough. I try to remind myself of that when things are bad.”

The lever opened a hidden door. 

They cleared that room and continued on. 

Hours later, they were somewhere deep under the mountainside when Cal flopped down on top of a sarcophagus and got a long drink from the water skin on her pack before holding it out to him.

“We’re going around in circles.” She heaved a sigh and pulled her feet up to adjust the buckles on her boots.

“I thought that last room looked familiar; its exactly like all the other rooms. We need some way to differentiate them. Charcoal, maybe?”

“Where are we going to get charcoal? I haven’t seen a fireplace. Unless you want to go back for your burnt up skeever? Or we could use your eyeliner.”

“Let’s not.” Rumarin glared at her. 

She smirked at him and, done fixing her boots, set to pulling her hair back and tying into a loose bun at the back of her neck, fingers quick and practiced. She stood again, and looked around, eyes coming to rest on the shelves of old jars, plates, bottles, and implements. 

“A cup!”

“…?”

She snatched a small drinking cup off a shelf and set it, upside down, in the center of the doorway.

“Now we know we’ve been here.”

“That could…oh, no, what if a draugr or something comes wandering through and kicks it over?”

She huffed and rolled her eyes, picked the cup up again and repositioned it, this time tucked off to the side against the doorframe.

“There. Better?”

“Yeah, actually.” 

They started off again, leaving things set in the doorways as they ruled out room after room.

Eventually they found their way into a broad open chamber with a stone tile floor and only one other exit. 

Cal opened the door and stopped short. 

A dead bandit lay splattered across the stones, head completely pulped, weapon still on their belt.

“What did that, do you suppose?” Cal moved to step over the mess and around the body.

No sooner had she moved than the came a distinctive metallic sound of something being released. 

Rumarin glanced up.

Something large and dark dropped from the ceiling.

“Cal! Look out!” He threw himself at the little mage, tackling her out of the corridor and flattening them both against a side wall.

A rush of air tugged at hair and hood and the log trap, activated by the opening of the door, hurtled down on its ropes. They watched it plow right through the space they had been standing, before it creaked to a stop, over the corpse. Then it slowly retracted, ropes hauled by pullies, weights dropping somewhere inside the walls to reset. Neither of them moved from the spot they had sheltered in until it was over.

Rumarin stared up at the log, now tucked back into shadows along the ceiling; heart pounding, Cal’s breathe soft against his throat.

“Oh.” Her voice sounded small. “So that’s what happened. Thanks for not letting me get crushed.”

“No problem.”

They got to their feet and were very careful to hug to the wall the rest of the way down the corridor.

The next sizable room had some kind of puzzle with a triangular arrangement of sarcophagi in the center and a series of animal glyph motifs. Cal went over to examine a book set up on a pedestal.

“A puzzle? I was wondering if we’d ever get one. The Nords are famous for these puzzle doors and locks and things.” Rumarin wandered around the room, listing the animals as he went. “Wolf, bear, snake, and what is that one, a fox?”

“It’s a riddle.” Cal looked up from the book.

_‘The first fears all, the second fears none._

_The third eats what it can, preferably number one._

_The fourth fears the second, but only when alone._

_All must be activated in order, if you wish to go home._

“Riddles. Excellent. I can deal with riddles. So…there are four choices; four animals. We activate the pillars in the right order, and that gate at the end opens. We get it wrong and…” He gestured to the sarcophagi.

“Great. What was it you said? No pressure?”

“Yeah. So, what’s that first one again?

She reread the lines. 

“Fears all…fears…I say either the fox or the snake.”

“The second line has to be bear. That’s the only one that could ‘fear none’. And I think ‘fox’ is for one of these other lines.”

“Snake it is, then.” Rumarin turned the pillar.

A brazier at the top of the central section flared to life. Nothing jumped out at them. They both breathed a sigh of relief.

“Alright, one down. What’s next?”

Cal ran to one of the other pillars. “’Second fears none’, we agree on bear, yes?”

“Yes.”

A second brazier flared up.

“Next?” 

“Eats what it can, preferably the first? What eats snakes?”

“And our choices are…wolf and fox? I would say neither. Who wrote this, anyway? Not a naturalist, that’s for sure.”

“I would have guessed bear, but we’ve already used it.”

“Shall we flip a coin or something?”

“Wolf, maybe?” She sounded far from certain.

“Fine. Try it.”

Wolf put all the braziers out at once and plunged the room into shadow as a sarcophagus lid crashed to the floor. Cal jumped and sent fire sizzling into a spot on the floor where the jumbled bones and dusty wrappings of a draugr lay scattered.

“Ha. It’s been here so long its gone faulty.” Rumarin heaved a sigh of relief and vanished his summoned bow again.

“Well, I guess we know it’s fox now.” 

They redid the pillars correctly and crept into the next series of rooms after waiting to see if any other traps went off. 

For all the size of the place, there wasn’t the mass of treasure he’d been hoping for anywhere to be found. A few soul gems, a handful of coins, and a lovely necklace of gold and emeralds that could not have looked more out of place abandoned in an old tomb, but which would have looked perfect around Cal’s neck.

Rumarin wondered if there was some way he could suggest that she keep it, without sounding as though he were being suggestive.

They fought through several more draugr and ended up in a series of tunnels where the stone work had collapsed and allowed avalanches of dirt to obscure the way. Webs stretched across the ceiling and dark shapes moved along the shadowed areas high above them.

“I hate spiders.” Cal grumped as she went ahead, sending gouts of flame into the thicker sections of webbing to open them a passage through.

She stopped dead. Rumarin walked into her.

“Hey, careful.”

“Ssshhh. Hear that?” Her voice was just above a whisper.

“What is it?” He could hear something, now that she mentioned it. But he had no context or descriptive term he could think of to place it.

“Hold on, I’m going to try and see if we can get a look.” She raised one fist in the air and moment later a firebolt shot down the corridor ahead, dimly illuminating the space ahead. Which was swarming with dark bodies and hairy chitinous legs. 

“Shit. Oh, shit shit shit shit.” She backed all the way up against Rumarin, who also took a step back.

“That….is a lot of spiders. Cal, I don’t suppose there’s another hall we could take…?” 

It was too late. Alerted to their presence, the arachnids were already moving. Little ones scuttled towards Cal’s boots. 

She fried them in short order, cursing, “I hate spiders!”

Rumarin pulled the only tangible weapon he carried; a dagger. Working quickly, he stabbed and slashed, flipping the dead ones away only to have more surge into the opened space. It became harder to tell which ones were dead and which were living, so many swarmed right over the corpses of the ones already dealt with.

Cal’s fire and lighting seared brightly against bulbous bodies, flinging the smaller ones away and cracking and charring the larger ones. Ichor spattered the floor in dark splotches.

“Hey, Cal?” Rumarin could hear her breath coming in shallow gasps punctuated by yelps of revulsion any time one got close enough to touch her. He wasn’t faring much better, beginning to feel itchy, as if they had gotten under his robes. Some less rational part of his brain rose up and took over. 

“Why do spiders spin webs? Because they can’t knit for shit!”

He caught sight of the look she spared for him for a split second as she was casting another spell. Clearly, she thought he’d gone insane. He supposed it didn’t matter if he had, so long as he kept killing spiders while he did it. He kicked away one that had latched onto his leg. Venom burned coldly beneath his skin. Another latched to his arm. That bite hurt worse somehow.

Cal blasted it off him with an ice spike, pinning it to the wall where it briefly struggled through its death throes. Just as it curled its legs inward, the spike melted, and it fell to the floor.

“What did the bartender say to spider after it told him a story? That is some yarn you’re spinning me!” his heartbeat felt sluggish as his body fought against the venom.

The tide of smaller spiders was slowing; some had fled, scuttling back into dark crevices to avoid the fire being flung in all directions. Cal swore again and stomped on one, scraping her boot clean on the edge of some broken tile. Rumarin stabbed a mid-sized one, wrenching down through its carapace, then whipped the weapon around, slinging gore off the blade to spatter against the wall.

“If they’re in my hair, I swear I will lose it!” She flared up another flame spell, although she could hardly cast it on herself, so Rumarin wasn’t sure what she meant to use it for. He could see a few bloody welts where she’d been bitten.

An immense shadow slowly twisted and spun its way down from the dark recesses of the ceiling. It landed, gangly forelegs wavering to taste the air before fangs dripping venom parted and it started for them. 

“Oh, fuck me. There’s a big one, too.” Cal groaned and brought her hands back up to cast, mouth set in a grim line, eyes still bright with fear.

Rumarin shoved the dagger hastily back into his belt and called up his bow and arrows.

“Aim for the eyes!” He advised and then broke into half hysterical laughter when he heard her call back, “Which ones?!”

They backed up the tunnel side by side, keeping as much distance as possible between them and the oncoming arachnid, but gods, was it fast. 

And it spit poison. Which they found out when it caught Cal right in the face and she went down swiping at her eyes with her sleeve; blinded and half paralyzed. Eight legs shuffled around to reorient and then it was bearing down on her, pincer jaws gaping.

Rumarin had shot every ‘eye’ he thought he saw on it, but all it did was anger the thing. He released the bow, grabbed his dagger and threw, no time to aim, only an incoherent prayer that he would hit it enough to distract, get Cal up and out of it’s path. 

“What do frogs like to drink in autumn? Apple Spider!”

The dagger slipped between it’s fangs and lodged somewhere in its mouth. The spider reared up, legs flailing as it tried to pry the object paining it loose from it’s mouth. He pulled his bow back into existence and shot straight into the exposed underbelly, just as Cal rolled over and sent jolts of electricity up and out the back of its head.

Legs twitching and kicking, it finally collapsed, and Cal scooted back away from it to stagger to her feet.

“Bastard!” Rumarin strode over, wrenched his dagger back and cleaned it before returning it to his belt.

They stood for a while, catching their breath and surveying the damage. Flames still guttered in few corpses, throwing flickering shadows over the wreckage. Cal started to laugh as she ran a healing spell on herself and then on him. For his part, Rumarin was left giddy by the feel of her magic rushing over him, warm as sunlight, strong and deep as a river.

“Wow, a healing spell? Is there anything you can’t do? If there is, it’s probably stupid.” He realized he was blathering a bit, maybe a side effect of the venom and adrenaline? He needn’t have worried; she was still laughing and shaking her head. 

_“Apple Spider?”_ She managed to whisper. In few more breathes she recovered but her eyes shone with mirth now instead of fear.

“Sorry. There was an obvious theme. I ran with it.” He made a vague gesture at the bodies curled all about the place. 

“Don’t apologize. It helped. In a weird way. But it did.” She stretched up and kissed the corner of his mouth.

“Hey…” He caught her arm as she was turning away and then caught her up in full kiss. For a few glorious seconds the hallway disappeared, the spiders, the pain of the bites, all of it. It was by far the stupidest thing he’d ever dared to do. It felt even better than her magic had. 

_The most incredible woman I have ever met, and I am kissing her in a tunnel clogged with dead spiders. If there’s a bar for ‘unromantic’ I’ve just set it so high a giant could walk under it with room to spare._

As if on cue, she tensed up and pushed back from him.

“…We should finish up here.” She licked her lips “We can talk later.”

“Right.” He swallowed, heart pounding with a curdling mix of desire and dread.

They picked their way over and through the rest of the tunnel and kept going.


	8. Chapter 8

The rooms and hallways wound up and onwards. They fought through rooms of draugr, one quite powerful one who Shouted them down to the floor and stabbed Rumarin right through the shoulder while he’d been frantically trying to summon his blade. If Calpurnia hadn’t been almost as skilled with restoration magic as she was with destruction, they never would have made it through that fight.

The final door opened onto a rocky snowfield high above where they had entered. There was the massive word wall, curved and seamless and constructed who-in-Oblivion knew how. 

Just as Cal set towards it, the lone sarcophagus in sight opened. Rumarin summoned his bow and drew.

It wasn’t a draugr.

It gave an impression of cloth, smoke, and magic, emaciated in undeath. Bits of robes embroidered with symbols he didn’t recognize were overlaid by scale armor fashioned to look like dragon hide. Even as it hovered, there was a constant sense of movement in the way the fabrics and smoke swirled about it, obeying breezes that didn’t exist. The head appeared more solid than the rest and focusing on this, he could see it wore a stylized mask or helmet of some sort. 

He fired. The arrow struck but seemed to do no real damage. The figure turned and rushed at him.

He backpedaled, landed four more arrows in amongst the fire and lighting Cal was hitting it with, before it lashed out with an ice spell so powerful that Rumarin’s whole body went cold. Stumbling, he released his weapons to fade back into Oblivion and sank down to his hands and knees. Struggling to get his body working again, he wondered just how badly he’d been hit; he preferred this numbness to pain, but he knew it was bad either way. 

He thought he heard Cal yelling something and saw her rushing at it, flames licking up the hems and tatters of its robes, trailing reeking smoke as it swept here and there across the snow. 

The creature flitted further away, Cal chasing after it. Rumarin tried to call out to her, to warn her not to let it lure her into anything worse…but the thought slid around inside his skull and he couldn’t make it become anything coherent. He couldn’t feel anything other than a faint distant burning sensation; the kind of dangerous warmth that killing frosts induced. 

He came to sometime later with his head in Cal’s lap, healing magic rushing through him. There was a bright searing wash of pain as it broke through the numbness, restoring damaged tissue and speeding him through the recovery. It grew into a pins and needles feeling in his extremities and then faded as sensation returned to normal. 

“Is it dead?” Slowly, he sat up. “Are you alright? Did you get your word thing?”

She had a gash across her forehead, a bruise starting to form where the contusion was swelling around it.

“It was already dead. Now, I think, it will stay that way. I slipped and fell on a rock climbing back up here.” She waved his hand away. “Some hero I am. But, yes, I got my word. Hardly seems worth it, after all that.”

“You’re my hero. Seriously, I’d be dead if not for you today. But if it’s all the same to you, I’d really just like to go to sleep now.” He flopped back down in the snow.

Cal rummaged through her pack and drank a healing potion. It didn’t erase the damage, but the bruising looked less severe. Feeling less pain, she flopped down with a sigh next to him and uncorked the next bottle, one for magicka, wincing at its cloying taste.

“We both would be dead. I couldn’t have done this without you, either. Thank you.”

“It’s agreed, then; we make a pretty good team.”

“Yes. But we shouldn’t rest now. Let’s go.”

Rumarin groaned and clambered to his feet. “Can’t we just camp here?”

“Rumarin, I am tired, I am starving, and I stink. I’ve been poisoned, bitten, cut, Shouted at, and frozen. You have been poisoned, bitten, stabbed, and frozen. Can we _please_ go somewhere to get food and a bath? Perhaps even sleep someplace warm and dry tonight?”

“That sounds brilliant. Lead the way.” At least the route would be mostly downhill.

Fatigue and hunger made every cobblestone seem like a hundred more. After the day they’d had, he would have been happy to simply collapse on his bedroll in the weeds by the side of the road, risk and inconvenience be damned. But the promise of real food and a tub of hot soapy water were too good to pass up. 

They continued their haphazard path back towards the road. The lanterns at the bridge glowed, visible in the misty moonlit distance, guiding them onward. Dragonsbridge might be a small town but was bustling on an average day. The Empire maintained a barracks there, and a fair amount of trade and travelers stopped in on their way to or from Solitude. The Inn there was as good a destination as could be found in their present condition. 

“Why do you always say that? That I should lead?” Calpurnia asked as they trudged along.

“Well, you’re extremely short. I can easily see whatever’s coming over your head. On the other hand, if I was in front, you’d never get a view of anything but my backside. Now, I’m told that view is fantastic, but...or should I say _butt_ …”

“You…” She balled up a fist and swung a halfhearted punch at his arm. “Ass!”

“Yes, that was the point I was trying to make.” He laughed and pretended to stagger sideways from her strike, rubbing his arm in feigned pain before straightening up and slinging an arm over her shoulders. 

She dissolved into punch drunken giggles fed more from being overtired than from him being that funny.

“This Inn had better have a good selection of wine, though. I think we deserve a bottle of something expensive after today.”

“On that we are agreed!”

He launched into a popular tavern song then, using the dirty lyrics instead of the generic variation most people were familiar with. His singing voice was off key. The only vocal mastery he had ever acquired being for projection, therefore ensuring that everything within in a mile radius could hear them coming. 

By the time they reached the bridge the night guard just shook his head and waved them across, keeping as wide a berth as possible. They must have looked as if they were already well into their cups and not just silly from exhaustion. 

It only made them laugh more. He didn’t quite want to head indoors, knowing there was what was almost certain to be an uncomfortable conversation to be had later. 

_Procrastinate._

If he’d been less exhausted he might have had to fake dragging his feet. As it was, they arrived just as the dinner hour was coming to a close.


	9. Chapter 9

Calpurnia tensed, head cocked at an angle to put the group of newcomers in her peripheral vision without being too obvious about it.

The group of Imperial soldiers headed straight to the bar to get drinks.

Rumarin frowned and studied the wine’s bouquet some more. It was a pricey alto white, plush and cool on his tongue; a nice pairing for the roast stuffed chicken and baked apples that made their meal. The chicken was a bit dry and the cook had skimped on the seasonings, in his opinion, but other than that he had no complaints. 

If it was one thing he understood almost intrinsically from his years in a troupe of entertainers, it was the value of a good prop. He raised his glass, appearing to admire the color in the candle light while he studied the three men and two women who passed by, armor dusty from a long day of training or traveling. He couldn’t for the life of him spot any threat there. So, what about them had twisted Cal up like that?

Over in the corner, a bard struck up a lilting tune. The ebb and flow of conversation about the place readjusted as the soldiers piled onto benches at a table over on the other side of the room. Things went back to normal.

Calpurnia turned back to her glass, shoulders and spine relaxing back into the slumped curve she’d pulled herself out of a moment ago. She took a sip and picked at the remainder food on her plate. 

_Strange. What was that all about, I wonder?_ But like the letter, it was none of his business. 

Until it was. 

“I said we would talk.”

Suddenly, Rumarin had a knot in his stomach he couldn’t blame on dry chicken. “You did. I’m sorry if I was too forward earlier...”

“I’m pregnant.”

“Whoa! Hey now, I’m not _that_ deep of a sleeper!” Of all the things he had been expecting her to say, that hadn’t occurred at all. He held his hands up in surrender. 

He didn’t get the disappointed face this time. 

She had her head turned to one side, mouth and chin propped in one hand in an oddly protective sort of way. In the flare of candle light, he could see tears streaming down her cheeks. She raised the hand she’d been leaning on to swipe at them irritably.

“Cal…. I don’t know what you want me to say here?”

“I don’t want you to say anything. I just thought you should know. Since we’re traveling together. In case you ever have to take me to a healer and I’m unconscious or something.”

_Or in case I do something so stupid like try to stick my tongue in your mouth when you’ve got someone in your life already…_

“Not to pry, but why are you _here_? Shouldn’t you be…?” He shrugged, unsure of how to phrase it in a not- condescending- or- jealous sort of way.

“What?” She snorted and swiped at her cheeks again. “Propping my feet up and knitting baby booties? No, thank you. And… I haven’t decided what to do about it, yet.”

“I didn’t mean to…It’s just…Um, shouldn’t whoever….” A thought occurred to him then, “Wait, it’s not that Ancano fellow, is it? Because I already don’t like him. Just say the word and he gets shot. Arse cheek’s the best; humiliating, painful, long recovery time…”

He broke off as a bark of unhappy laughter broke loose. 

“ _Gods. No._ No, this happened before. I’ve really made a mess of my life.” 

She told him the rest, then. About Helgen and a cart full of prisoners. About a last-minute decision to execute the lot of them. About a dragon. About running for her life with a handful of others; soldiers, rebels, civilians, it hadn’t mattered anymore. Fire and blood had rendered uniforms unrecognizable, just as the terror had for earlier animosities. 

About how, by the end, it had been just her and a young Imperial officer named Hadvar. They had run all the way to the first safe place they could manage to reach; a small village where he’d happened to have some family. How once the fear of death had worn off, they’d ridden the resulting adrenaline high and then each other for the rest of the night. 

They’d parted ways the next morning at the bridge leading out of town; he for the nearest military outpost, she for the city of Whiterun.

“He invited me to go along and join up. I’m not the military type.”

“Is that who you’ve been writing to?” Asking still wasn’t his business, strictly speaking, but it fit now that he knew.

“Yes.”

“Just how many letters are we talking about?”

“That last was the third. I told him to piss off. Since he never answered the others. One I could believe got lost. But not all three.”

Rumarin nodded. This was…. _bad_ wasn’t quite the right word. Complicated. Really, really complicated.

 _What a bastard._

“So, what do you want to do?”

She heaved a shaky sigh, eyes reddened from the tears. 

“ _I don’t know._ I didn’t think... I went to that Temple in Whiterun because I had gotten a cut and it was infected. And the healer, she wanted to make me a tonic, but she needed to know what sorts of things she could put into it. She asked me if it was possible that I could be pregnant? I had to tell her that technically, yes it was.”

“Then she wanted to know had I been taking anything to prevent it? And I told her yes again, but that I hadn’t been able to keep up on it. Because they took my pack with all my things and I still thought it would be okay because, they tell you, when you are on it, that if you want to conceive it can take months for your cycle to go back to normal after you stop. I thought I had time. And then I couldn’t find the ingredients here to make more. The healer ran a spell on me to test and see and…”

“I’m so stupid. Stupid… And now all my plans are ruined, and I don’t know how I’m supposed to do all that they want me to when I’m …when I can’t even… _I’m running out of time._ ”

She began crying again then, in earnest. Rumarin cringed and noted that he was beginning to receive concerned and dirty looks from some of the inn’s other patrons. _If this all culminates in me getting my arse kicked in a barfight, that will pretty much be in keeping with how this day has been going._

He heaved a sigh and pushed his plate aside, appetite gone.

“Wow. That is…a lot for you to be dealing with. This is all very much over my head, so to speak. I will tell you that I’m too tired to think properly right now. Is it fair to suggest we both sleep on this and talk more about it in the morning?” 

She sniffled, nodded, and pulled her sleeve down over the back of her hand to wipe at her eyes. “That’s fair.”

“I hate this; I don’t cry this much, normally. But thank you. For helping. And for listening. I wouldn’t blame you if you hopped the first carriage back to Windhelm. It’s a lot; like I said, I’m a mess. Speaking of which; I believe there is a bath with my name on it.”

She rose from the table, stopped to kiss the top of his head, and then ducked quickly through the doorway that lead to their rooms.

He ordered another bottle of wine and stayed at the table, lost in thought.


	10. Chapter 10

Rumarin eventually had his own bath and went to bed. He lay awake, mind in chaos. Tossing and turning; torn between thinking it would be easier if he left and battling waves of guilt and self-loathing for considering doing that at all. 

Her advice appealed to the coward in him. Just get up and head out around dawn. No one would be around to witness him slinking off. Like always, when things got too serious. Carriages came through all the time, it wouldn’t take much to hitch a ride to pretty much anywhere else. Better for him, anyway, he’d get to go back to the freedom of doing what he had been before they’d met. 

_Which was what, exactly?_ Some traitorous part of his brain piped up. And all he had to do for that freedom was ditch someone he had come to care about because they’d become inconveniently needy.

Except, wasn’t that exactly what that idiot Hadvar had done? Ditched her to fend for herself. Her family was dead. She wasn’t close to anyone at the College; that crumbling ruin was not a family -oriented place. She had no one. And she had no place to stay outside of that dark tiny dorm. No wonder she was panicking. _I’d probably be crying all the time, too._

Before he fell asleep, his brain had one last fun thought to throw at him; _Is she an inconvenience because she’s pregnant or because you have feelings for her and this gets in the way of that?_

He didn’t know if it was some residual reaction to the spider bites, something about the wine, the stressful conversation, or his own guilty conscious, but he had very strange dreams that night. Almost nightmarish. Themes of dark nameless things chasing him, of being trapped and alone.

The last one, though, was about something that had actually happened. He hadn’t thought of it in years and years.

He’d been about twelve at the time. 

_They’d stopped in some town or other and everyone was busy getting set up for the show that night. It was also hotter than a steam house, being the height of summer, and everyone’s tempers were short. Rumarin, being told that he was in the way, had wandered off and found a group of children his own age._

_One of the boys had received a new toy; a hoop and stick. The others were taking turns trying to run it through an impromptu obstacle course they had set up using empty barrels and bits of trash and so forth. One boy had been hanging back, watching from a spot in the shade. Rumarin had ended up becoming what he was sure was best friends with him over the course of the next few hours by keeping a running commentary on the performances of the various runners and making the other boy laugh._

_By the time the dinner hour was approaching, they had all piled into the slow, tepid river, to splash off the heat and dust of the day. Except, that boy hadn’t wanted to get in. And once he’d been teased and splashed enough to finally take his shirt off and hop in, his torso was revealed to be covered in bruises. He’d made some joke about being clumsy and falling down some stairs. But one of those bruises had been in the shape of a large handprint._

_Rumarin had the sickened feeling that something was wrong. No one spent that much time around trained actors without learning to spot a line when he heard one. He’d tried to tell his parents about it at dinner. They were too busy tending to all the last-minute sundries and problems that preceded a show. They hadn’t had time and he was in the way again._

_So, he’d found Otero and told him. Otero had asked him to point the boy out and Rumarin had. The fat jester had sighed and squeezed Rumarin’s shoulder. “Sometimes the best thing, the only thing, you can do is be someone’s friend. You made him laugh today?”_

_“Yes. Lots.”_

_“Good. But if it will make you feel better, I’ll see if I can’t put a bug in the ear of one of the guards while we’re here?”_

_Rumarin didn’t know how putting bugs in anyone’s ears would help anything. It sounded gross. And really ticklish. But he trusted Otero to know what to do._

_They’d gone on with the show, packed up the next day and head out. He’d kissed that boy goodbye under the shade of a gnarled old apple tree when no one was looking; a quick peck on the lips, before running off to catch up to the troupe. It had felt significant in some childish way and he hadn’t dared to look back. Over the years, he’d forgotten the boy’s name._

When he woke up, he had a headache. But like that half -remembered kiss, the dreams felt significant in some way. 

They got a late start that morning, both having slept in late. 

Rumarin was eating breakfast when Calpurnia shuffled into the dining hall, dragging her pack, and sat down to buckle up her boots. She didn’t look up at him and only nodded when he said good morning. The innkeeper brought her a bowl of porridge, which she wolfed down, not having eaten much the night before.

“I’ll be honest.” She mumbled in between bites, “I did not expect you to still be here.”

“I didn’t expect me to still be here, either. But I am.”

“So…what are we doing, then? Talking? Or are you heading back to Windhelm?”

She frowned at what he had on his plate then, as if noticing it for the first time. “Also, what is that you’re eating?”

“Shhhh. Not so loud! I had to smuggle this in here.” He shifted an arm to hide the syrupy, jam filled pastry he’d bought at the tiny bakery across the street from the innkeepers eagle sharp eyes.

“How can you hike all day when that’s what you eat first thing? I’d be shaky by midmorning.”

“Hey, I’m in the best shape of a sload’s life.” He quipped, taking another bite, jam dripping onto his chin. “And it’s already past midmorning.”

“Do sload like pastries? They should have had my gran’s apfelstrudel. I suppose they must maintain that shape somehow.” 

She sighed and shook her head when he merely grinned. 

“Rumarin, I don’t know what I’m going to do. What I am doing. If you do, then that’s no reason for you to change what you want just to humor me. No obligations. I’ve managed on my own this far. If you want to go, I’m not going to hold it against you.” 

“But I would.” He surprised himself by saying it out loud.

“Listen, I don’t know what you should do, either. Someone once told me ‘life isn’t fair’ and while I’m pretty sure I still hate that person with a fiery passion, they got that one right. Sometimes a person just gets too much dumped on them. Aedra’s idea of a joke, maybe. Can’t say I find it all that funny. Me, I cut my losses, drop everything I don’t need, and just walk away.” 

“You obviously can’t do that. And while I’m the last person anyone should want life advice from, I do know you probably shouldn’t try to carry all of it alone. So, I’ll help you as much as I can. I may be a coward, but even cowards have pride. Or something. So, there’s that.”

“Now, can we please go find something kill, or a ruin to explore before this gets any more awkward?” He made a show of brushing crumbs off his robes.

She pressed her lips and stared intensely into what was left of her porridge, considering.

“No, wait. I do know what you should do; take me up on that offer before I panic and take it all back.”

That finally got her to laugh a little. 

“Alright. I will take your offer. Now, here’s mine. Let’s go back and see about that staff Enthir wants. By then, I should have come to a decision. And if you’ve had a change of heart, then we can part ways after that, agreed?”

“Agreed.”

They finished eating, settled their bill, and headed out into the bright gray of another overcast day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey- to all five people still reading this! Thanks for sticking with it   
> Cal is somewhere in her early to mid twenties. I haven't pinned down an exact age yet. A little older than your standard first time college student, but not a lot of life experience yet....boy is she ever making up for that now. And like a lot of people, she has made some questionable decisions and is putting off having to deal w more stressful ones. (You might notice she uses 'magical thinking') Rumarin...I'm just making shit up for him for backstory but I hope it fits with the how we know the character turns out.


	11. Chapter 11

“Where did you first learn magic?” 

After days of travel, they had left Rorikstead behind. The weather had held; cloudy but dry as they headed from the farmland into the tundra. Their boots kicked up small clouds of dust as they scuffed along through the grass and weeds at the roads edge. Piles of horse shit along the roadside had gone crumbly and attracted only the occasional butterfly. It was a long walk to Whiterun, but no carriages had passed all day. There was an odd flatness to the air and sky; the light almost metallic. It made them both anxious, so they filled the time talking.

“My gran taught me. She was Altmeri and was a battle mage when she was younger.”

“That explains so much. And the healing?”

“That, too.” Cal chuckled. “She said a great mage needed to know how to undo anything they could do.”

“And your grandfather had a workshop, you said?”

“He made furniture; pieces with really nice scrollwork, cabriole legs, pierced splats.”

Rumarin choked at that last one.

“ _Pierced_ …. that’s not a real thing. You’re having me on.”

“It’s the middle part of a chair back. Ask anyone. My brother and I used to help him sometimes; I still have a soft spot for the smell of varnish.”

“There has to be a joke in that somewhere. I’m not familiar with the fancy sort of _splats_ your grandfather produced, but good carpentry is important. _There it is._ ” He snapped his fingers before continuing, “Whenever we had to have a new stage or set piece made, suffice to say things would be tense until it had gotten us through at least one performance successfully.”

“What was your favorite?”

“Favorite what?”

“Set design? Or whole play, if you prefer.”

Rumarin launched into an animated description of a play they’d performed over the winter one year in Imperial City. 

“That theatre had mosaic tile floors _everywhere_ , including onstage. Which served a purpose because they could use specific tiles for light effects. Great acoustics. And the _woodwork_. Gods, I’ve been in actual temples to the divines that didn’t look that rich. Anyway, the building itself is beautiful, so we really went all out. Which was tough because we were a much smaller company than what they usually hired.” 

“The play itself wasn’t too remarkable. The typical sword and cloak sort of story that was immensely popular back then. I think the main character was a pirate or something. But the set…we had a whole balcony we built ourselves; which I helped paint. And there was this canvas backdrop that must have been a mile high painted with mountains and a cityscape with a harbor full of ships.”

“I got to stand backstage and ring the bell and scream like seagulls for the sound effects. I can do a pretty good seagull scream, if you’d like to hear it?”

“Please don’t.” Cal snorted. 

“Well, that’s a shame. I haven’t been able to put my true talents to use for so long.” 

“Screaming like a seagull?”

“It’s more useful than you might think.”

“You could learn to conjure a swarm of them to fight for you.”

“Horrifying thought. With my luck, I’d probably just get scamps anyhow.”

“Rumarin, you’ve traveled all over the Empire; what kind of ruins do they have? There must be so many more.” She was gazing off toward the tumbled bones of an old watchtower foundation off the road.

“Hm. Besides that of my theatre career? There really aren’t. They come and haul away the rocks and reuse them to build new things. Or shore up holes in the roads. Archaeologists are always screaming about that one. Things that are abandoned here are still in use in Cyrodiil. Besides, it’s not the ruins that show you were the really old things are.”

“There are Nedic sites, just rings of earth or a few blocks of stone, or caves with the openings carved into doorways. Plus, all sorts of Daedric stuff left over from the Oblivion Crisis. That’s all better left alone. Otero told me an awful story once about a man who picked up an artifact at one of those sites. Turned out to be cursed, as you might imagine. He meant it to be funny, but it gave me nightmares.”

“Maybe he did that to warn you away from those places.”

“Maybe. He could be devious like that sometimes.”

“What happened to your parents?”

“Nothing. Why?”

“Well, you never talk about them. I don’t even know your family name. I thought maybe you were an orphan.”

“Might as well have been.” He grimaced when she flinched from his tone a little. “Sorry. I dropped the name. One thing I didn’t procrastinate on. That’s a long story and I don’t feel like telling it. But since you brought it up, you little hypocrite, I don’t know _your_ family name, either.”

“It’s Martín.”

“Hm. That’s a good name. So, Calpurnia Martín, why so many questions?”

“Because you never answer them. You talk all time, but you do it without saying anything.”

“I told you, it’s speech craft. Oh, alright. _And_ it’s because when you travel in a caravan with a whole lot of other people and you sleep in tents that must be shared and you eat altogether…it gets personal, fast. So, the best way to offer any privacy in that sort of situation is to just never ask anybody personal questions or offer much about yourself.”

“So, instead of curtains, or separate rooms, you had to learn how to put walls around with the way you talk?”

“Pretty much.”

“Could you teach me how to do that?”

“…Why do you want to?” Rumarin frowned at her.

“My grandfather used to say I chattered like a little bird when I was little. I think I still do. But being Dragonborn, some of the people I have met, it’s dangerous. I need to be more mindful of what I say. Or what I don’t.” 

“I could try. There’s no rules to it or anything. You just talk around the edges of topics. An example? If I ask you if you’ve seen a dragon lately and you don’t want to tell me that you have, you might make a joke about dragons being really hard to miss. Or about how everyone and their granny is seeing them these days. On the other hand, you can play the skeptic and ask if I’ve been drinking. That sort of thing.”

“This is fencing. You are making a deflection, but with words instead of a blade?”

“Yeah. That’s not a bad analogy. You’re not lying, so a detection spell won’t reveal anything. And it will usually keep a person talking so you get a shot at guessing what their motive is instead of the other way around.”

“Useful. There’s a woman; Delphine. I need to practice this on her.”

They had made their way around to the east towards Whiterun. The sun was getting high in the sky and the tundra was blending back into the outskirts of farmland surrounding the city. Here and there the specks and squares of homes with vegetable or wheat plots dotted the hills. The one closest to them had neatly woven fences to keep the handful of chickens in the yard. A tall cross of cut saplings draped with old clothes had been staked out in the middle of a patch of squash.

“Why did the scarecrow win an award?” Rumarin asked upon seeing it. 

“Farm jokes?” Cal groaned and shook her head. “Ugh, fine. Why?”

“Because he was outstanding in his field.”

Cal laughed despite herself. “Ok. That one was a bit clever.”

“You have to know at least one joke, Cal. Everyone knows at least one good joke. It’s like trying a new food everywhere you travel.”

“We weren’t really a joking sort of family. Not that we didn’t laugh, but…hmm.” She frowned, thinking.

The next house they passed, a girl came out to take the laundry down off the line. Cal brightened. 

“Oh. I do know one. My brother told me this when we were young. What did the blanket say when it fell off the bed?”

Rumarin thought about it for a little bit. 

“Now I’m in lint condition?” 

“No. But that is a good one, too. Better than mine.”

“What’s your answer?”

“Oh, _sheet._ ”

“Cal, that only works because of your accent.” Rumarin laughed.

Calpurnia had stopped walking.

“Shit.”

“See, it sounds like that when you….” Then he saw what had her attention. 

Armed figures ran, drawing on them, from the old fort they had strayed too near. An arrow zipped past his ear.

“Why is it always bandits?” He focused his energy and a second later, his bow and arrows were there, eerily transparent under the late afternoon sun.

Better aim evened their odds. That, and Cal Shouting and knocking the second wave back on their asses.

They headed in to clear the bandits out. With any luck, Whiterun would have a bounty posted that would make it worth the trouble.


	12. Chapter 12

“Do you smell that?

They had finished up clearing the fort. These bandits, unlike the previous group they had cleared, had set up a small treasure room to house their ill-gotten loot. It had taken mere minutes for Rumarin and Calpurnia to sack the whole thing, sorting through to pack up the most valuable of the easy- to- carry items. Exiting through a different set of doors, they came out onto a long walkway between guard towers. The sky had darkened towards evening and the wind had picked up while they had been indoors. There was an odd rushing sound. 

“Smoke. A lot of smoke.” 

They ran to the edge and gazed out over the miles of tundra and low rolling hills dotted with the occasional copse of trees that surrounded the fort.

Clouds of what looked like fog but wasn’t had obscured the landscape below. The rushing sound grew closer. 

“We need to get back inside.” Rumarin grabbed her arm and dragged her back towards the door.

“What? What is burning?”

By now, waves of warmer air and enough smoke to make their eyes water and their lungs catch were billowing over the walls of the fort. The rushing sound grew to a roar.

“Wild fire.” Rumarin set the door closed behind them and they both hurried deeper into the cooler, lower levels. “We used to see them sometimes when we traveled. If you can’t outrun them, then you need to get somewhere sheltered and relatively fireproof. This fort is big enough. Hopefully.”

“That’s a cheerful thought. I can cast some frost spells…and maybe a ward spell big enough for both of us. But that’s about it.”

“There’s a lot of stone between us and whatever is burning. And there was water down in that one wing.”

“Yes. There is also enough food stored here to last a few days in addition to what we have.”

“We’ll try to wait it out, then.”

“What do you suppose started it?”

“People. Or lightning, but it hasn’t stormed recently.”

“Or a dragon.” Cal’s tone was subdued.

“Or a dragon.” 

They exchanged a worried look. Neither knew if the fort would hold against a dragon. Helgen hadn’t.

“Do you think…will Whiterun be alright? Those houses are all wood…The guards have faced a dragon before but…”

“They have? Oh, right, you’ve been here before. The outskirts might not be. But I think the city can withstand it.”

Somewhere above them came the sound of shattering glass as the windows blew out. The air began to move, pulling past them as the firestorm sweeping over sucked air with greedy abandon. It grew hard to breathe, the acrid odor of smoke reaching them even this far in. 

They hunkered down, choosing a room close to the center, staying low where the air was cool and still breathable. An old carpet, rolled up and soaked in the seepage pooling down the hall, made a convenient door block. With the pull of air impeded, it was just them, the quiet drip of something leaking, the occasional crack of overheating stone from upstairs, and the musty stink of efflorescent stonework.

Rumarin got a lantern lit and dragged over a rickety table and some chairs. Cal dug around in an old drawer and found a small box of game pieces. 

“Do you know how to play this?” She blew dust of the box.

“It’s been a while, but let’s see how much I remember.”

As it turned out, he remembered more than she did and easily won the first two rounds. 

“You mean to tell me you don’t carry any sort of entertainment in that bottomless pit of a bag?”

“No.” Cal rolled her eyes. “Not unless a book for reading counts.”

“It does not. Why haul all that stuff around when you don’t even use most of it?”

“Why not? You were the one who was so happy that I had spare leather strips to fix your boot.” 

Rumarin glanced down at his makeshift lacing. “True, but you’d save your back and some time if you carried less.”

“It’s all I have. If I had a place to leave it, someplace that was mine, then maybe I wouldn’t be so paranoid about it. But this is everything I own. And I already had it taken from me once.”

“You’re like a little snail, carrying your house around.”

“Snails are slimy.” She made a face, “And they eat the rose bushes. Why don’t you carry more? Even just a small pack would let you bring lots more things.”

“I don’t have to, that’s why I bring you along.”

“Are you comparing me to baggage?!” She threw a game piece at him.

The ensuing teasing was interrupted by an immense crash. The ground beneath them shuddered. Cal went chalky in the dim light of the lantern. 

“That was a tower coming down.” Her voice was tense.

“Helgen?” Rumarin asked. He really didn’t want to know the comparison but couldn’t ignore it either.

“Yes.”

“How much longer do you think it will be before it’s safe to check?”

“I don’t know. We’ll know if a dragon shows up, though. I’m afraid to sleep.”

“Me, too.” Rumarin felt shy about admitting that.

She sighed and started resetting the game board.

After some more rounds, several which she won, it had gone silent above. Even the rushing sound was gone. 

“Shall we check?”

Rumarin nodded.

They crept back up the stairs, feeling door handles for heat along the way. The upper levels reeked of smoke. Ash and embers coated the floor. Cal had been right about the tower. The courtyard also now held the blackened remains of the wooden scaffolding the bandits had erected. But the fire had swept past, leaving a charred landscape in its wake. 

Their steps crunched on broken glass and burnt ground as they made their way back to the road through the drifting smoke, hurrying to get to the gates of the city before it got fully dark.

They were not the only ones; farmers and travelers caught as they had been were filing towards the city alone, or in small groups. Guards were out, searching through the wreckage of farmsteads, torches weaving and bobbing through the smoke. A dead horse blocked part of the road. People were coughing, calling to one another. A child was crying.

“What caused this?” Cal stopped a shock-pale Nord woman carrying a basket filled with what few possessions she had recovered and leading two young children to the road.

“It was awful. One minute it was there, the next it was gone. A dragon. It just flew over and…” Her soot blackened hand gestured back towards the smoldering buildings. “I don’t know where we’ll go.”

Whiterun was busy with guards and refugees streaming up and down the roadway, but inside the gates, the energy changed. The air up that high was cleaner; wind whipping in off the tundra pushed the smoke back. They stepped through, brushing ash from their hair and clothes.

“I should have been there.” Cal shook her head. “I should have killed it.”

“You couldn’t have known it would show up like this. It’s not like we can track something that flies.”

“Still, we should at least find out what direction it headed in.”

“Hey, you’re the one in charge here. It’s up to you. But I’m game if you are.” He tried to sound like he meant it. Even though he was willing to go pretty much anywhere a dragon wasn’t.

Given the late hour, storefronts were expectantly dark. People stood out in the road and gossiped about the attack. Children had been called back inside. But as Rumarin had predicted, the fire had passed by and the city had not been touched.

They pushed through the crowded inn, worried there might not be vacancy left, but most seemed to be there for the drinks and to listen to a bard who was apparently quite popular. They got rooms for the night and planned to leave the next day. 

“Meet you tomorrow by that bakery cart down by the road before noon? I have a few errands to run. And you should look for new boots.”

“I should. Fine, then. But don’t be mad if I get there first and eat everything good before you show up.”

“Just save me one blueberry muffin? That’s all I ask.”

“Such tasks you assign me.” Rumarin sighed dramatically. “Very well, one blueberry muffin. If they have it.”

“She’ll have it. Goodnight, Ru.”

“Goodnight.”

The next morning, he slept in late, unable to pass up the rare opportunity to be lazy. When he finally did get up and head out, it was nearing noon.

It turned out that Cal was right. There were muffins; blueberry, snowberry, salmonberry, cloudberry, apple, carrot, some with icing, some without; a whole display filled with them. He bought half a dozen in different varieties and sat down on a rock across the road to wait.

Cal came along, pack hoisted up high on her shoulders. It might have been his imagination, but it seemed even larger than before. 

“Did you get your errands done?”

“Yes. And you got new boots.” 

“I did?” 

She dropped the pack and withdrew a large rectangular parcel from the top. “Now, give me my muffin.”

“This seems like a poor trade…” But he handed her the small package of baked goods and set to unwrapping the box she thrust out at him.

Peeking inside, half expecting something to jump out, he caught sight of rich dark brown leather armored in dwemer metal before he snapped the box shut again.

“Cal….” He had no idea what to say.

“Well, try them on. If they don’t fit, we can take them back. But I’m not walking another mile with you complaining. Those raggy old things you’ve got on aren’t fit to boil down for glue. Although, they might be the reason no wild animals have come into any of our campsites.”

“I just thought…I’ve had these forever and I figured I could get a little farther before I needed to replace them. You really shouldn’t have.” His throat felt tight.

She made a disgusted noise. 

“Of all the things to put off. But I knew you would, so I got them for you. These are made from mammoth hide with the shearling wool left inside so they’ll stay warm even if they get wet and they have a low-level stamina enchantment so your feet won’t be achy at the end of the day.”

He hauled off the thin well-traveled boots he’d been wearing, stained and threadbare with soles cobbled and recobbled several times over. Pulling on the new ones, he wiggled his toes in the soft lining. They fit. They felt wonderful.

“Cal…how did you get the sizing right? I mean, one reason I’ve kept these for so long is that they actually fit.”

“I traced them while you were asleep. Your feet are huge. Can you write with your toes? They’re so long.”

“Why are we having this conversation? Eat your muffin.” His face burned. He ducked his head and focused on getting the buckles fastened before straightening up and muttering, “And yes, I can.”

Cal grinned, smug, and ate her muffin.


	13. Chapter 13

“Seriously though, you shouldn’t have. Let me pay you back?”

“Rumarin, no. It’s fine.”

They were two days out from the city on a dragon- hunting detour southwards up into the mountain range that formed the border between Whiterun and Falkreath holds. Rumarin had been pestering Cal on and off about the boots. 

“But it’s just me being lazy. I have the money. Or will soon. How much were they? It was a lot, wasn’t it?”

“I know. They didn’t cost as much as you think. The Dwemer pieces were left over from what we found in Alftand. The court wizard did the enchantment in exchange for some soul gems I brought him. And I took the rest of the money out of your purse. So, they really are _your_ boots. Now will you please let it go?”

“Oh, no. Apparently, I _am_ that deep of a sleeper.” He flushed a bit at the idea that Cal had been in his room and he hadn’t even noticed. “When did you….? But, why do this at all?” 

“Because I wasn’t lying when I said I was tired of listening to you complain about your feet. And for some reason, the things you put off are all things to take care of yourself. I just thought, instead of arguing about it, it would be less stressful for both of us if I just acted as the middleman and got it done.”

Somehow that was worse than if she had spent her own hard -earned coin on a gift for him.

“Cal…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put you in the position to feel like you had to do that. I’m such an idiot.”

“And I’ve said a dozen times already; it’s fine.” She stooped and scooped up a handful of snow, packing it from palm to palm as they walked. 

As soon as Rumarin looked away, she whipped around and pelted it against his chest.

“Hey! What was that for?” 

“I’m going to start throwing things at you every time you say something bad about yourself. Why can’t you just accept this instead of acting like you owe me something now? You don’t.”

“What if I want to owe you something?” It came out sounding flirtier than he’d intended. He arched a brow and leaned down for his own handful of snow. “In fact, I’m positive that I do owe you. _Something._ ”

Her eyes narrowed, catlike. _Daring him, really_. He tossed it. She squeaked in indignation and tried to dodge, the snowball catching her somewhere in the angle between pack and shoulder. Laughing, she ducked behind a tree. 

He scrambled to get another snowball started.

She rolled out from behind the tree, having left the pack behind, and flung another one at him, hitting him squarely in the hip. 

His second hit a tree. He went for a third. And had to flinch back when hers exploded on the ground right where he’d been reaching. He got the next one packed cleanly and nicely rounded, as aerodynamic as he could make a pile of frozen water flakes become. It was, in his opinion, the perfect snowball. He waited until she ran between trees and threw, aiming for her shoulder. And hit her in the boob by mistake. 

Cringing at her cursing, he dodged her next volley, yelling apologies the entire time. 

The game went on, snowballs flying, slipping and sliding in the snow, laughter and shouts echoing through the glen. 

Rumarin ended up behind a rock, shaking snow out of his hood, one ass cheek aching where she’d gotten her revenge with a missile he was certain she’d used a frost spell on to coat it with ice. He patted together another snowball, fast. When he crept around to catch sight of where she was, he couldn’t spot her. The whole area was covered in tracks, no telling which ones were her most recent.

_Not that I’ve ever had any talent for that sort of thing, anyway._

“Spells- are- cheat-ing!” His sing- song voice echoed back with no answer.

Suddenly, a weight dropped on him from the rocks above. He shrieked and dropped the snowball. Calpurnia whooped in triumph as she tackled him to the ground and shoved a handful of snow down the back of his robes. He was left writhing in reaction to ice melting against his spine, gasping like a fish.

“Got you!” She laughed, panting, and shoved his shoulders back down for emphasis.

“You did…you do.” He murmured, having lost all awareness of the cold.

She was tousled and flushed and breathing hard and the sun was reflecting a myriad of tiny rainbow halos off the flakes scattering her hair and lashes. He knew he was staring. Cal was sitting on his chest and laughing at him and looking more gorgeous than anything mortal had a right to and he had no idea what to do about it. Well, no, that wasn’t true; he knew exactly what he wanted to do about it. 

But it wasn’t such a great idea. He didn’t need to go throwing himself on top of the pile of things Cal had to make decisions about right now. Much as he’d love to know how well he fit inside her, he wasn’t sure quite where, or if, he fit into her plans for the future. The more time they spent together, the more that that mattered to him. 

Paralyzed by his own internal conflict, he just hoped by some miracle that he could draw this moment out as long as possible.

Cal had gone very still and was staring back at him, something enigmatic in her expression.

_Crap! She’s going to get up and I’ve gone and made things weird and awkward again…_

She didn’t get up. She leaned in, her nose brushed against his, breath warm on his cheek.

He swallowed, his throat having gone dry as his heart rate sped up. He couldn’t stop staring. There was something almost predatory in her eyes as she studied him from so close. Then her mouth was on his and she was kissing him, lips warm and slightly chapped from the cold. It took a split second for reality to kick back in, for Rumarin to kiss her back. After that he lost track of time for a while.

When it ended, they were just as breathless as before.

“Got you.” He mumbled, smiling against her lips, stupidly happy at the improbable turn of events. _Any second now, I’m going to wake up. But until then…_ Raising his head, he nibbled along her jaw to her neck to lick up the droplets of melting snow sliding down towards her collar.

“You’re impossible, do you know that?” 

Her voice was husky and oh, gods, but the sound of it did things to him. He hadn’t been completely hard until right then. If she had asked it of him, sounding like that, he would’ve gotten naked with her right there in the snow, ice burns and frost bite be damned.

As it was, all he could do about it was kiss her again, pulling her back down against him, hands knotting in the bulky leather of her coat. She reached up and tangled a hand in his hair, sucking on his tongue until he groaned into her mouth and broke away, some half coherent idea in mind to break all his prior arguments apart and ask her if she wanted to set camp right here so they could keep this going without the fear of exposure of every sort.

He was trying to pull his brain back into some semblance of functional logic to get the words out when Cal started to say something, too, but whatever it was got cut off.

The scream of a dragon echoed off the rocks, deafening them.

A shadow, huge and cold, slid over as the enormous wingspan blocked out the sun.

“Shit!” Cal flattened them both back to the ground, one hand raising a ward spell around them as the dragon stooped and dove low over the glen, its wings kicking up a rush of wind that stung bits of snow against their faces. It swung around and coasted up to the peak they’d been heading towards before they’d…. gotten distracted.

“I guess we found the dragon.” And with that, she scrambled off him and ran, low to the ground to retrieve her pack.

“I really, really hate dragons.” Rumarin grumbled to no one in particular. He sat up, scooped snow up in both hands and smacked himself in the face with it. The rest went down the front of his robes until the shock of it had him sucking air through his teeth to keep from screaming. 

Then he was off and staggering up the trail after Cal’s impatient and dwindling figure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pffft. I realized too late that I put the dragon in the wrong mountain range...but whatever. It still works. I'm pretty much caught up to posting as much as I have written which is not how I usually go about this but for once I'm not writing 10 chapters ahead. And...I still have no cohesive plot?! Do I need a plot? I don't even know anymore. But I do have more terrible jokes. I had to google these and if I have to suffer, then so do all of you. *headdesks*


	14. Chapter 14

“A draugr, a troll, and a dragon walk into a bar…” Rumarin glanced over to see if she was listening or making that face that told him that his timing was off. There had to be a joke in here somewhere. But the smoldering corpses of the creatures they had just fought still littered the dais before the dragon wall, offering no comment. He shook his head. _Better them than us._

The dragon had not been the sole denizen of this particular ruin. In addition to a mated pair of trolls, there had been a draugr. _Had been_. The trolls had thoughtfully made short work of it sometime before he and Cal had arrived. The dragon had then proceeded to immolate one of the trolls while Cal had Shouted the other clear off the stone platform that made up the highest level of the ruins. 

Rumarin hadn’t stopped to wonder about it at the time; now, however, he fought back a laugh at the idea that some hunter might be doing their business in the bushes somewhere only to have a troll fall on them out of the clear blue sky.

The dragon’s bones lay where it had _finally_ fallen. Cal, magicka so low her ward had been flickering dangerously, had downed almost all the magicka potions in her pack in an effort to keep pace with it. Rumarin had landed the lethal shot through its eye. That had been hard won after almost an hour of the damned creature flying all about and sending them running with volcanic blasts of its foul breath until they had tag teamed its wings to ground it.

He had a fresh burn scar on one arm to show for it. Again, without Cal’s magic, this day might’ve been his last.

Cal was kneeling a short distance away, drinking another healing potion. 

_That treasure had better be something._

“Well, how about it? Shall we see what this one was worth?

She nodded and recapped the rest of the potion, tucking it back into the bag. Together they sat down by the large chest and set about going through its contents.

Whoever had filled that chest had apparently been something of a hoarder; bones, rolls of deer hide, a handful of minor potions, and some old gloves, were heaped in alongside a suit of ebony mail, about a hundred gold pieces, and some gems. 

“What do we do about the armor?”

“Well, I don’t want it. Too heavy.”

“I guess we leave it. Unless…No.” She shook her head and reluctantly closed the lid on the most expensive piece of treasure they had found yet, taking the gauntlets, as those at least would fit in her pack. 

“Maybe we could sell the location and let someone else haul it off.”

“Maybe. You know, someone hauled it up here to begin with. I wish they had sold it and brought the coin instead.”

“They probably wore it up here. Or paid somebody to carry it; these things are supposed to be offerings. Or, maybe it was his.” Cal pointed to what was left of the ancient Nord guardian.

“Hm. That could be. Maybe whoever was supposed to become the draugr had to put all their worldly belongings or whatever in that chest as a last act or something before they went and got all mummified. Maybe all this junk is symbolic. Those old gloves could be holy, for all we know. They’re certainly hole-y. Get it?”

“If you ever get tired of looting tombs, you could write papers for the archaeological crowd.”

“No, thank you. They say academia is cutthroat; studying even contains the word dying.” He looked to see if she laughed.

“You ruin it when you do that.” Cal pointed out. “Check to see if people have reacted.”

“I can’t help that I was trained to play to an audience. You’re giving me nothing to go on, here.” He bowed and swept an arm out to usher her past and back toward the stairs. “Now, where are we going to sell this stuff?”

“Hm. Riverwood, or maybe Ivarstead. They’re small towns that don’t normally get a lot of trade, so they should give us good prices.”

Rumarin frowned. “Isn’t that backwards? I’d expect a city would be better.”

“Seems like it should be, no? But they want to have items worth a trader coming in to do business.”

“Oh, it’s a _lure_.” 

“If you mean bait, then yes.”

“The theatre practice of a ‘lure’ is a bit more involved than that, but the concept is the same. Fine, then, which is closer?”

“Riverwood.”

“Wait...isn’t that the town where what’s- his- face has family…?”

“Yes.”

“Ah. Would you rather not go?”

“It’s fine.”

“Cal…”

“It is. First, we might not run into them. Second, if I do, we have errands to run so I have an excuse to get in and out fast. And third, unless I say something to them, they won’t know I’m…”

“Hey, maybe this is an opportunity for you to practice the speech craft we talked about. See if they know where he is?”

“I…I guess I could.”

“Not to be a pessimist or anything, but there is a war going on. If he’s dead or something…at least you’d know why he never wrote back.”

 _I am going to go to a deeper level of Oblivion for wishing that he’s dead, aren’t I..._ It would be less complicated, though. For both of them.

“Yes. It…I hope it isn’t that. But it might be a relief to know.”

“You…could also try telling them.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Until I decide…I just don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Fair enough. Um, do you want me to go with you?”

“Oh, no. I have to do this on my own. If I do it, that is. We’ll see when we get there.”


	15. Chapter 15

Hadvar squinted and rubbed his eyes. The scent of hot wax reminded him of his duty; he shook the fatigue away, dripped some onto the envelope he’d been staring at, stamped it, and tossed it into the courier’s basket for outgoing messages. One more down, fifteen more to go.

Funny how he had thought being promoted would mean more field work, not more paper work. He rubbed his eyes again and got started on the next one. 

The hour was late, candles burned low and shadows shrouded the halls of Castle Dour. A fitting name. He hated it here. No one smiled. Narrow halls, crowded now with Imperial military personnel, the sunlight never seemed to reach. He was lucky if he even managed to catch a few moments outdoors during meal breaks or while traversing the walls on his way to or from the junior officers’ staff meetings and then the sky was usually overcast.

There was a knock on the doorframe. Hadvar started; he’d been staring again, quill poised above paper, ink drips ruining the page.

“You’re still here?” Rikke asked. “What has the General got you working on so late?”

“Legate!” Hadvar shot to his feet, saluting. “My apologies. These are…notifications.”

“Ah, he has you writing the families now? I don’t envy you that. I never know what to say. Everything sounds trite when you have to tell someone their loved one is dead.”

“I think that’s why this has been taking me so long. But they’re to be sent out first thing tomorrow morning, so…”

“And your orders?” The Legate handed over a scroll.

“My…?”

“You’re to join the men at Korvanjund. It’s my command, and I want you there. You’re too good a soldier to waste on deskwork. General Tulius has seen fit to agree. We leave at first light.”

“Yes, Legate. I’ll be there.” Hadvar gave the expected response automatically, despite the sense of unease. 

Korvanjund had an ill reputation. Like Bleak Falls Barrow, it was said to be filled with the souls of restless Nord dead; a place better left in peace. Why would the Stormcloaks dare to disturb such an old burial site? They valued Nord history more than anyone. Or claimed to. Of course, it would all be need-to-know, so there was no chance he’d get to find out what was really going on before tomorrow.

“Finish up and get some sleep, Hadvar.”

“Of course. Goodnight, Legate.”

She nodded, terse and guarded as always, and left, armored boots clanking softly down the hall toward the courtyard. The sound of the heavy doors, grinding open and then thudding closed, echoed off stone. Hadvar was left alone with the shadows once more.

He sat back and refocused on the stack of letters, struggling to finish them off with renewed energy, his attention pulled by the scroll nearby. _At least it will get me out of here, out where the action is._

By sunrise, the couriers came through and collected the outgoing letters. Hadvar’s tiny office was empty; his scroll of orders and meager issued possessions gone. 

No one was there to see the stack of letters that got dropped into the box set for incoming messages.


	16. Chapter 16

Riverwood was aptly named; old growth trees and a handful of thatched houses surrounded by gardens, vegetable plots, bordered by the river. The town was quiet, though Rumarin got the sense this was normal. 

A small group of hunters were butchering a deer they’d killed. Two women scrubbed laundry in the shallows. A guard wearing Whiterun colors loitered around the ‘gates’, which weren’t really, as they had no actual doors. A handful of young children ran and ducked around buildings, chasing a lean muddy dog who had what appeared to be someone’s doll in its mouth.

A lone horse was saddled and tethered out in front of the inn. An old woman rocked in a chair on a front porch. The only other street led up to more homes tucked back against a bluff tangled with dark overgrown pines. Chickens roamed the crossroad, pecking at whatever caught their fancy. 

The scent of fresh sawn lumber came from the mill. The sound of someone hammering out iron at the forge rang up and down the main street, breaking up the trill of crickets and birdsong.

“You weren’t kidding when you said this place was small. I always thought ‘one cow town’ was just an expression.” 

“It is an expression; it’s used to refer to small towns with only one cow.”

Rumarin squinted down at her. “Well, I know that _now._ ”

“There’s his uncle Alvor.” She ignored his invitation for a game, nodding towards the blacksmith. “Split up and meet at the Inn?”

With a shrug and a nod, Rumarin was left alone in the street. Cal took the gauntlets and headed over to ask about their value. He hoped she would come away with a good price and good information. _Well, reliable information. Good was_ …. he didn’t want to think about it.

He wandered in to the ‘general goods’ store which was also the only store. They took several items off his hands without even haggling; Cal had been right about the excitement over new merchandise making them willing to pay an items full worth. 

Pockets lighter, he went to the inn and got a bottle of mead to drink outside while he waited. Sitting on the front porch and sipping, he became aware of someone crying. Curiosity piqued, he followed the sound down the steps to a spot below the porch where the skirting had fallen off. A young girl in pants and a grubby tunic was hidden there, sniffling, knees pulled up protectively to her chest.

“Hi. My name is Rumarin. Are you hurt? Do you need me to get someone for you?” He kept his tone gentle.

She shook her head. 

“Do you mind if I sit here and talk to you for a bit? My friend went off to trade and I don’t know anyone else here.”

The sniffles slowed. “My friends ditched me, too.”

“Well, that’s their loss. What should I call you?” 

“I’m Dorthe. I work with my pa, he’s the blacksmith. At least I did until my ma said I couldn’t anymore.”

“Do you like helping your pa? It sounds like hard work.”

“Oh, I do. I want to be blacksmith when I grow up. Only ma says girls can’t. She wants me to wear dresses and play tea party and learn to garden. She got me that stupid doll and I rubbed stew meat on it and tried to get Stump to eat it. Or bury it; he does that sometimes. That’s my friends dog. But all he does is chew on it and run around and now they want to play with the dog more than me.” 

“Sounds like you’re having a rough day, kiddo. You know what might help?”

“What?” 

“Think about the happiest, funniest thing you know. You don’t have to tell me. But whenever I’m sad, I think of things that make me laugh and it makes it not so bad anymore.”

By the time Cal made her way to the inn, Rumarin was showing off for an audience of four kids and a dog. He was juggling seven chicken eggs. Every so often he’d pretend to fumble one. When he spotted her, he brought the routine to a finish and bowed, to childish cheers and applause.

“Dorthe!” A harried looking woman came storming down the street. “What have I told you about talking to strangers! And what are you doing with the eggs I just collected?!”

“It’s alright, Sigrid. He’s here with me.” Cal stepped over and arched an eyebrow at Rumarin as if to ask him what was going on.

“Hi, Cal. I was just demonstrating some finer points of juggling for Frodnar and the others here.”

Frodnar grinned and nodded. “I’m going to train Stump to jump through a flaming hoop and then we can start a circus.”

“Hi, Cal!” Dorthe hopped up and waved. “Is this your friend? She’s friends with my cousin, too.”

“Dorthe, have you taken over the whole forge already? You’re covered in soot!” Cal smiled at the enthusiastic young apprentice. She handed the basket of eggs back to Sigrid.

“Home, Dorthe. Now.” Sigrid’s tone was implacable.

“Yes, ma.” Crestfallen, the girl waved goodbye to the others and headed off.

“I’m so sorry she was bothering you. We’ve told her not to talk to strangers but she just doesn’t listen. You know how kids are. Cal, it was good seeing you again. Stop by sometime for tea!”

“Yes, I do know how kids are.” Rumarin was quiet. There was nothing friendly in his gaze. Sigrid didn’t even notice; she had already turned back for the house.

The little gathering broke up. He and Cal went back inside to freshen their food supplies before continuing onward. When he didn’t offer an explanation, she nudged him with her elbow.

“What was that all about?”

“What?” 

“Ru, you know what.”

“Sorry. I just…she was crying under the porch. I couldn’t leave her like that. She wants to be a blacksmith but her mother won’t ‘allow’ it. As if she has any control over it. And when I mentioned I knew how to juggle, well, that Frodnar kid lit up like a sunrise. I bet you anything he told his parents he wanted to learn and they told him it was stupid or a waste of time or something.”

“Probably. Sigrid has some…very old -fashioned ideas. I don’t think you need to worry about Frodnar though, he gets his pranks in, from what little I’ve heard.”

“Old fashioned or not, she’s crushing that poor kids dream. And I see it all the time, Cal. We used to follow something of a circuit; there would be all these kids crowding around, asking questions, wanting to see every lame little magic trick, laughing at all the routines. A year or two later, they’d lose interest. Like someone sucked all the fun out of their lives. Its _always the parents_. Aren’t there any good parents anywhere on Nirn? It’s like some kind of curse, I swear.”

Cal’s expression was flat. “According to you.”

 _Open mouth, insert feet_. Rumarin cringed.

“Oh, no. Cal, I didn’t mean…” But she had already swung her pack back up onto her shoulders and was out the door.


	17. Chapter 17

He caught up to her halfway down the street. 

“Ah, what I said back there? It wasn’t…I’m not…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean you. I’m not against people having children. I’m just against how so many of them treat their kids later on; like nuisances or accessories or miniature copies of themselves. Although, I’ll be the first to admit I’m not precisely unbiased on the topic.”

“Your parents crushed your dream of becoming a blacksmith, too?”

“Very funny.” 

“Why should you get all the jokes and puns and whatever?”

“No reason. That’s just how it is; I don’t make the rules. I get the jokes. You get all the serious dragonborn stuff; saving the world and carrying everything. Those types of things.”

“That’s what I thought you’d say.” Cal sighed.

“Did you learn anything?”

“No. I just mentioned I’d written and not heard back. He made some comment about the Imperial army keeping Hadvar busy, so my impression is that as far as they know, everything is normal.”

“So, he’s not dead, then.”

Cal made a disgusted noise at him. 

“Cal, I just think you need to leave him out of your decision-making process at this point. Unless you want to go all the way up to Solitude and stake out the command office and even then, they probably wouldn’t tell you where he was. And he might be ignoring you on purpose because he’s an asshole or something.”

“Whatever the case, you’ve made the effort to involve him and it failed, so now I think you need to make whatever choice is best for you. I know, again, that I’m not exactly unbiased here and I also know that it really isn’t any of my business. On second thought…please disregard everything I just said.” 

Cal was silent for a bit, studying him and Rumarin got the sense that something had just shifted between them, which was terrifying because he had no idea what it was, much less if it boded well or ill.

_Why did I open my damned mouth?! Things were going better; we kissed in the snow and I wanted to do that again. Without the snow part. And the dragon part. And the almost dying part._

“Say his name.” Her voice was soft. “I know you know what it is.”

“Hhha……Hhhh” Rumarin’s face contorted as he tried to force the name from his throat. It almost made him physically nauseas.

“You can’t do it, can you?”

“Because I _hate_ him.” He blurted out. “Alright, there. I said it. I hate that he got to have this incredible night with you, I hate that he fucked off afterward and left you. I hate that he isn’t answering you now. _Who does that?!_ Partly, it’s the principle of the thing; he’s giving men everywhere a bad name. But it’s partly personal, too, because I think you’re amazing and I never would have left and if he comes back then I’m just…. I’m…. If he’s not dead, can I shoot him? Please? And now, oh gods, I’m blathering, and I can’t stop. Cal, change the subject! Please!” 

He felt lightheaded, all the pressure gone into his chest as though he were about to start hyperventilating. _This is worse than stage fright._

“What? Change it to what?” Cal was looking at him in a kind of awed confusion.

“Anything! Hurry!”

“… Dogs?”

“Great!” Rumarin nodded, “What about them?”

“I don’t know! You said change the subject, so I did! I didn’t know I was supposed to come up with more. Why are we yelling? Are we having a fight?”

“No, we’re not! We’re just...I told you that you had to be in charge of all the serious stuff. That includes conversation prompts!”

“Since when?” Cal was laughing now, helplessly shaking her head in exasperation. “But you were saying something…”

 _Oh, good. She’s not mad._ The pressure in his chest began to ease off a bit. 

“Please, can we just continue?” He gestured in the direction they had been heading. Neither of them moved. “New topic?”

“Um, alright...how about…loot? What are you going to spend yours on?” She glanced up for his approval. 

“Loot. Good. I can work with that.”

“You’re jealous of him. Aren’t you?”

Just like that the pressure was back and he couldn’t quite see the road anymore; his vision was tunneling. 

_Breathe. Count to three. Breathe._

He stumbled off to the side of the road and sat down on a fallen log. “No…. I…. that would be ridiculous…I only…”

“Rumarin. Look at me?”

He made himself look her in eye, surprised to find that there was nothing harsh or angry in her face at all.

“Did you think, what, that I wanted him back? That I was hung up on him this whole time and just amusing myself with you? It was one night; that’s all it was ever meant to be. I wanted to find him to tell him, ideally so we could deal with the result together, not because I wanted to get back together. And you’re right.”

_“I am?!”_

“I tried. Now I’m moving on. I have a time constraint; he does not. So, I’ll make my decision without him.”

“Oh. Right.”

“And I wasn’t toying with you. Am not. Are you toying with me?”

“No.” It came out as barely more then a whisper. He swallowed to try and ease the tightness in his throat. _Why was this so scary?_

“Wonderful, then that’s settled. Because I’d really like for that to be more than just one night. Now, can we please go and get this thing that Enthir asked for? Or did you want to talk about loot, too?”

_What just happened? Are we…? We. Wow._

She grabbed his hands to try and haul him up off the log; she wasn’t quite strong enough, but he let her pull him. He used the momentum to lunge forward and kiss her.

“Just so you know,” He murmured against her lips, “This is actually about as good as it gets with me; I’m terrible at romantic stuff and a general disaster, otherwise. In the interest of fair warning and all.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Now, what are you going to spend your share on?”

They continued walking down the road. Cal kept holding his hand. 

Rumarin wasn’t entirely sure how it was even possible that they had come to this. This was usually the part where he was told how insufferable he was and got passed over for someone, anyone, more serious or savvy. _She said more than one night._ It made him feel like hyperventilating again.

At the moment, all he could really process was that Cal’s hand felt perfect in his and that he might be capable of flying right now. He kept glancing down to see if his feet were, in fact, touching the ground.

“Wait, what? Really?”

“Yes. You made me think about it and now I’m curious.”

“Oh, well, you might be disappointed.”

“Is that not the point of loot in the first place? To buy whatever pointless thing you can’t afford otherwise?”

“True. Fine, then. There’s a cookbook; one of the first run printed editions of the Gourmet’s recipes. Signed, too. There are only five of them and every so often one gets put up for auction. Next time one does, I’d at least like to have the option. That…and at some point, I should probably try to learn some more spells, and I’ll have to hire a tutor because books don’t help.”

“I think those are both perfect things to spend gold on. One of them is almost responsible.”

“Shhh. I know. Don’t spread it around.” He whispered, then squeezed her hand. “What’s yours then?”

“I am saving up to buy a house.”

“That’s way better than my ideas. I mean, we both know I’m not going to carry a whole stupid cookbook around with me, even if I could afford it.”

“No. You’d just give it to me and I’d put it in the pack with everything else.”

“Exactly! Then, I’d feel bad for making you do that. You’d feel bad because of the extra weight and all. A house solves everything!”

“There aren’t any. Not that I can afford and could live with.”

“You’ve looked?”

“Yes. In Whiterun. I check the notice boards everywhere.”

“Whiterun...how early did you get up that morning? Nevermind. Dare I ask what was wrong with it?”

“Ugh, it was really in bad shape. It was drafty; it had gaps in all the walls and floors. It needed a new roof _and_ new stairs.”

“…Did it have a kitchen, by any chance?”

“No. Not even a proper fireplace. Just a firepit right inside the door. Come home drunk only once, I guess.”

“Good riddance, in that case.”

“Do you want to come with me if I find another to look at?”

“Yes, but only if we can pretend we’re rich snobs and complain about everything. Get them to bring the price down.”

Cal’s laughter kept him floating all the rest of the way down the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Fitz and the Tantrums 'Do What You Want' playing in the background*
> 
> Writing this dialogue gave me such a headache...I'm used to characters who are more...direct, shall we say, about what they want. These two idiots just talk circles around their feelings and each other but end up on the same page anyhow. 
> 
> I've been reading articles about how theatre is sometimes used to help kids with social anxiety. I've always headcanoned R as being the chubby awkward kid who had trouble making friends and got bullied a lot. He uses that training to get through a lot of situations, but with a little persistance, its probably still possible to reduce him to a ball of anxiety.


	18. Chapter 18

“I’m going to kill him.” Cal fumed as they stood outside the cave, examining the table set up with candles, bones, and embalming tools. “He knows this is illegal!”

“Something tells me ‘Enthir’ and ‘illegal’ get used together in sentences a lot.”

“True. But his usual ventures are almost harmless; bootleg moonshine down in the midden, dealing in the occasional stolen item; selling cheat sheets and potions right before exams. This is something else.”

All evidence was pointing to the person who had absconded with Enthir’s staff being a necromancer.

“I don’t think whoever set this up is here. So, do we go in now and risk them coming back? Or do we wait and see?”

“I vote we wait. If they have the staff, then there’s nothing to be gained until they get back anyway. I don’t like the idea of getting trapped if they come in behind us.”

“I agree. It’s getting late. I prefer to deal with undead in broad daylight; less scary that way. Let’s go find a spot to set up and check back in the morning.” 

They hiked deeper into the grassy vale of pine and alder above the cave. There was a small clear stream tumbling down amidst some rocks. A stand of evergreens surrounded a relatively flat area; a perfect campsite. 

The timing worked out; the sky was getting dark and so were the thunderheads rolling in from the south. While the cloud cover helped hide their wood smoke from anyone in viewing range, Rumarin didn’t like the idea of being caught in a storm.

In the mountains, the weather tended towards unpredictable. They got a fire going and he started work on roasting the rabbit they’d bought off a hunter earlier. He stuffed it with some stale bread cut into cubes, wild onions they’d found growing by the stream, and elves ears. _No alto white, unfortunately. Although this would work with a dry rosé. Need to remember to try adding boiled eggs, a tarragon cream sauce, and maybe a snowberry compote._

Cal refilled the water skins and got the tent set up; making sure to secure the rain tarp. They ate, then banked the fire so they’d have hot coals to start breakfast in the morning. Tired from the long days of travel, they got settled in and went to sleep.

Rumarin woke sometime in the dark of night, shivering. He could barely move. All his limbs were tense with cold. Getting out of his bedroll was worse, but he needed to relieve himself, so there was really no choice in the matter.

It was beginning to snow.

On his way back into the tent, he stopped to check the fire. Out. Including their sheltered coals. The temperature was bad enough; without a fire it could be a death sentence. They needed to warm up, fast.

Ducking back inside, he could hear Cal’s teeth chattering from somewhere on her side of the tent. 

“Cal? Come over here before we both freeze to death!” 

They scrambled to shuffle their bedrolls together, laying Cal’s underneath to further insulate them from the chill. He shoved the pack over in front of the tightly laced flap to help block any drafts. With her tucked safely into the bedroll with him, they shivered together until eventually, they warmed up enough to drift back to sleep.


	19. Chapter 19

Hadvar pulled his heavy fur cloak closer around him and leaned in towards the meager heat of the fire. It hadn’t stopped snowing since he’d arrived. 

The camp was small. Somehow, when Rikke had handed him these orders, he’d expected this action to be bigger. Three tents split between six soldiers, his own solitary shelter, and the larger command tent for the Legate. They had stayed back behind the last of the tree-covered hills, sending the scouts ahead. But all signs pointed towards Stormcloaks having set their camp within the ruins themselves. No telling how many there were. 

He let his gaze roam, resting momentarily on the tattered oxblood banner with its black dragon emblem, snapping in the wind.

Not for the first time since Helgen, he wondered if the Empire’s icon had been inspired by that big bastard that had nearly killed him, or one like it. If the banner’s designer had ever seen one. Thinking of Helgen made him think of Calpurnia. Of how much he would rather be warm and naked in her bed again rather than stuck out here freezing his ass off. 

Except, she had never come to Solitude. He had spent weeks after returning, swiveling his head like an owl with a nervous tic every time someone arrived, searching for her face in the crowded market, at the hanging, in the courtyards and hallways of the castle. Whatever her choices, he hadn’t been among them. _Gods, please don’t let her have joined the Stormcloaks. I couldn’t handle it if…_

Shaking his head to clear the pointless line of thought, he tossed a few more branches onto the fire in the futile hope it might make a difference.

A raven cawed; black wings beating in sharp contrast to the snow. It took off and vanished into the flurry- blurred gray sky. An ill omen? Hadvar shivered. 

Every instinct he had was telling him this was a place better left alone. It was there in the odd hush of the woods around them. It was in the bitter cold that should have been too dry to produce snow. It was in the tense posture of the men; muttering and casting sidelong glances at the immense blocks of carved stone that marked the barrow entrance. 

Rikke hadn’t wanted to hear it; had called them all superstitious fools. But Hadvar had seen her reach beneath her collar, when she thought no one was looking, to lift and kiss the amulet of Talos she wore. He had heard her soft plea to her god.

The scouts returned; shadows coalescing out of the snow into solid form. Confirmation was given. The rebels were there.

The fires were doused. Hadvar ordered the last-minute weapons and armor check. Blades were oiled to prevent them from sticking in the cold. Then he got the signal from Rikke and gave the order to form up. Everyone was alert, energies focused and high. 

Then they were running through the snow, moving through the trees, using what cover they had to get as close as possible before engaging. Weapons at the ready, he led the strike team to the head of the stairs as the archers took position on the ledges above the stairs.

“Now!” Rikke’s call was echoed off in the distance by the raven’s cawing.

The next moments were a blur. Steel. Blood. Yelling. Adrenaline. 

Pushing forward, throwing a woman in Stormcloak blue back and down the stairs. Blades clashing. 

A hot line across his leg.

Cutting her throat when she missed the parry. 

Stairs slick with blood. Slipping and nearly falling. Catching himself and knowing his knee was going to hurt later. 

An arrow slicing across his jaw. The man next to him gurgling and falling, that same arrow buried to the fletching in his throat, eyes wild like a panicked horse’s.

Stabbing at another rebel and feeling the blade hold a split second, resisted by leather and tough fabric, before sinking through. The man’s spit striking warm against his face.

The stink of urine and blood and snow. 

Then they were up to the doors and everything stalled. Two men from the rear carried forward the small battering ram they had brought along and set to slamming the doors apart. The locking mechanism warped and then snapped apart. 

Tension rode high again as they surged through the gap and into the ruins themselves. Torches were tossed forward to light the way. The sound of shuffling and the clank of armor echoing off stone. 

Finding the first room empty and having to keep the men on alert. Then finding the bodies; victims of the ruins defenses; the Stormcloak scouts. 

Down a flight of stairs. Someone set off a trap; the woman to his left. She went down screaming, dragged back and left propped against the wall by the others. 

They found the remaining rebels. Formed up in the large room beyond the base of the stairs. Tactically, it was a nightmare; anyone who rushed down got shot. 

Hadvar called the order to retreat; they backed off and up the stairs again, numbers almost halved. 

Rikke sent the scouts around to make sure no other routes existed. No other exits. They treated their wounds and settled in to wait. In the meantime, if the rebels wanted to wear themselves down on draugr and traps, Rikke had said, and Hadvar agreed, that it was best to let them. They would reset camp here in the antechamber.

Eventually, the rebels would have to come back this way. 

And the Empire would be waiting for them when they did.


	20. Chapter 20

Rumarin drifted awake to the spattering of rain against the weather tarp. It was pouring. The air on his face was cool but no longer dangerous. The bedroll wonderfully warm by contrast. Cal was curled in against his stomach, breathing soflty. His arm was around her, erection pressed to the back of her thighs.

He stayed still, heart pounding so hard he was amazed the sound of it didn’t wake her. They hadn’t yet discussed having sex. Nothing beyond Cal’s vague admission that she wanted more than just a fling. He hadn’t wanted to disturb the fragile new state of things between them. He was also very aware that crawling into bed with someone to keep from freezing was nowhere near the same thing as an invitation, much as he would love to stay cuddled against her like this for the rest of the day. 

_She probably doesn’t want to what with everything else going on._

He started to shift away, intending to roll over.

“Mmm. Don’t move.” Her voice was sleep blurred and grumpy. She fumbled a hand back, groped at his hip and pulled him back against her.

“You don’t mind...?” He resettled to where he had been.

“Hm. No. Feels good.” She stretched, yawned, and wiggled to get comfortable, rolling her hips against him in a very deliberate way.

“Either don’t do that again or do and don’t stop.” He buried his face in the back of her neck.

“You have a low threshold for being teased?” She was awake now, turning back to face him.

“Low implies there’s any threshold at all.” He groaned into her hair when she did it again. 

“No, I’m ridiculously easy. Get me like this and I’ll do almost anything you want. Especially if you…No. I’m not going to tell you. Not yet, anyway.” Had that sounded flirty? He’d meant for it to sound flirty that time. Maybe it had just sounded weird.

“I think I like this about you.” Her voice had that sultry tone to it again. 

He rolled to his back as she moved over him; strands of her hair brushing, ticklish, against his cheek, kissing him until they were both panting. She moved down along his throat, hands tugging open the collar of his robe.

“Are we really doing this?” He curled his fingers into her soft fleshy hips, pausing on his way down towards the rumpled hem of the shift she had slept in.

“Do you not want to? I thought…but if you’d rather not…” She pulled back, brow creased in concern.

“I do want to. Very much so. It’s just that I didn’t pack any sheepskins; I wasn’t expecting this to happen on this trip and…”

She sat back, hands still braced on his chest, and frowned down in alarm. “Do you have any diseases I need to worry about?”

“No! No. That’s sort of the point, isn’t it?” 

“Well,” She settled back down against him. “Neither do I. And you already know you can’t get me pregnant, so…?”

_Right. I’m being an idiot, as usual._

“So… we’re doing this.” He swallowed his nervousness and pulled her down for another kiss. 

It was long while before either of them spoke again.


	21. Chapter 21

It was hours before they were dressed again and ready to head back to check the cave. Officially, the excuse had been that they were waiting for the rain to stop but really, it had been the sex that had kept them busy. Rumarin couldn’t stop humming to himself as he helped pack up their camp. 

“You know, we’re not that far from Windhelm.” He paused in the act of helping Cal tie her bedroll to her pack. “Maybe we could stop in on the way back to Winterhold?”

“Oh! Of course. You must want to see your friends.”

“It might be nice to let them know I’m not dead.”

Cal gave him a look that said she wasn’t too sure how sarcastic he was being at the moment. 

The joke was on her, it wasn’t sarcastic at all. He had left and not told them where he was going. And by the time he’d thought of it, days had gone by. Which left him feeling like it would be too late to send a note saying ‘Sorry, I’m not going to be home for dinner like I said I was’. But not enough had happened to write a whole letter. 

Then everything had started happening and now here he was, sort of in the neighborhood, as far as an entire province could be concerned, and with this great new relationship and some pretty good adventure stories to share. So now he felt like he could show up and they’d have something to talk about besides how business at the stables was going.

“Let’s go see about this and then we can stop in and visit your friends.” Cal slung her pack up over here shoulders and they started down in the direction of the cave.

As they approached, a woman dressed in black was muttering to herself as she readjusted the bones on the table, double checking her work against a diagram in a book nearby. There was no staff in sight.

“We’re going to have to go in and get it, aren’t we?” 

“I don’t suppose we might try asking her?” Cal shrugged. “I admit, I’m not sure if Enthir meant for us to bargain with her or fight.”

The woman attacked the instant she saw them and gave Cal no choice but to hit her with dual lightning and ice spells. An arrow thudded into her chest as almost an afterthought, but perhaps not overkill, as the bones on the table settled back from where they had begun to shift together, inert once more.

Heading into the cave opening, they followed the tunnel around and into a small cavern with a sinkhole above, daylight streaming into the underground space. Saplings strained upwards toward the light, surrounding a table set up as another work station; soul gems, tools, books, and vials of poisons set out and ready for use. The birds for whom the area was named took off from their mud nests in the rocky ledges, forming a feathery whirlwind on their way up into the light. 

The next attacker, who lunged out from a shadowy area to one side, ice spells missing Cal’s head by a hairs breadth, fell with three summoned arrows in him. 

“There are more people here.” She stood looking down at the body. The man was wearing the same robes the woman outside had been. “I think there might be a cult?”

“Great. Does it ever strike you as odd that for following such a reviled practice, necromancers are weirdly social? There never seems to be just one.”

“Safety in numbers? The matching robes are a dead giveaway.” She stepped over the dead man and didn’t look back.

“Did you just…? Don’t tell me, my terrible sense of humor is rubbing off on you!” He heard her sigh as he was hurrying to catch up.

The caverns wound deeper and so Cal and Rumarin went onwards, cautious and on the alert. 

They caught the next two necromancers in a sort of hallway formed by the pattern of stalagmites. Ice, fire, lightning, and arrows flew, ricocheting off stone, until the space reeked of magic and one necromancer was down, clutching at the arrow protruding from their leg. 

Rumarin risked a quick peek from around his sheltering stalagmite, jerking his head back as an ice shard stung past his cheek and smashed into the stone beyond him. He needed a better angle on the mage still standing. As it was, he didn’t have the shot. 

Cal was crouched nearby, spells at the ready. She saw his helpless shrug and threw herself around and forward, firing off a return volley of ice and lightning as she dove behind the next rocky outcropping. 

The remaining mage turned and shot his next series of spells, not at them, but into his downed comrade. The next thing they knew, that fresh corpse was up and staggering towards them, magicka lighting up both hands.

“Shit! Look out, Cal, that one’s back up!” 

A roar of flames tore through the approaching body, burning it to ash. The heat sent the remaining necromancer into retreat further up the corridor.

Rumarin rounded the corner, bow drawn, only to find Cal alone in the hallway, eyes watering, an arm up over her mouth. She let out a long shuddering breath and shook herself out of whatever had just stunned her.

“I hate having to do that.”

“You…. that wasn’t a spell…you breathed fire!”

She nodded. “We need to burn the ones we kill so they can’t be risen.”

“Agreed. It’s just plain rude to have to kill them twice. A body should have the common decency to stay dead. But that is still a wickedly amazing thing you did.”

She shrugged, a little awkward, and they moved into the next section of cavern, watching for their fleeing target.

Some kind of warm light flared up ahead, glowing against the dull rock.

“Was that a spell? Terrible aim.” But it seemed he’d spoken too soon.

A flame atronach drifted towards them. Followed by another.

“Fuck.” Cal spit and threw out a ward spell along with all the ice she could manage. It barely slowed the atronachs. “Daedra.”

Rumarin kept firing as they retreated to the dubious cover of the stalagmite corridor, firebolts exploding at range along the way.

“These are conjured, though.” He had no idea if that gave them any advantages or not and wracked his brain for related information from his college days. He came up with nothing.

“Does it matter?” Cal fell back, downed her last magicka potion and used it to set an ice glyph trap into the floor while they waited. “And aren’t all daedra here technically conjured?”

“I don’t know. Maybe?”

“Just keep shooting them!” She sent hot bolts of electricity zinging down the corridor.

The air began to swirl, the dry heat pulling cooler breezes in. The odors of magic and hot limestone rock permeated every lungful. 

After that exchange, her ward failed, and she fell back, panting. 

“I’m out.” She pulled her bow and quiver loose and began adding physical arrows to his summoned ones. 

“Cal, still got that frost spider venom? Let’s find out if atronachs like apple spider, too!”

“Yes, not a bad idea.” Her wild laughter was muffled as she dove headfirst into her pack to get the vials they’d collected out from the bottom.

Dipped in the chilling poison, her arrows bit deeper into the atronach. Small dark patches appeared amidst the swirling flames that made up the atronach’s corporeal form. Enraged, the creature rushed forward. Right across the glyph. 

Ice and frost burst outward in a wave of intense cold, catching the first atronach fully and damaging the second.

Cal stepped forward, Rumarin grabbed her arm and hauled her back behind cover.

“Wait for it.”

“Wait for what?” But at that moment the prone form of the first defeated atronach exploded in a wash of flame, cinders and heat surging outward and melting the residue of frost rime that remained from Cal’s glyph.

“For the fireworks.”

“Right. Too bad I haven’t got it in me to make another glyph. That worked well.”

“Cal, we’re in a den of rogue mages.”

“And?”

“There have to be magicka potions around here someplace.”

“We haven’t found any yet. And I don’t think she’s going to give us directions.” Cal jerked her head back towards where the atronach was drifting, waiting.

They played a drawn- out game of tag with it over the course of the next minutes or so. Time felt stretched out, as if hours were passing. Ducking out, firing arrows, ducking back into cover to wait for the firebolt to hit. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

Cal used up all her venom. 

Rumarin could feel the muscles in his back and shoulders burning with the effort of keeping up the pace.

_Thank gods this doesn’t weigh anything. How can she keep hers up?_

A last arrow struck and the atronach drifted to a stop. Flames quenched, it crumpled to the ground. They waited out the spectacular demise, and then ran forward to regain the position they’d abandoned.

The caverns branched onward, opening into living quarters that bordered a large ruin of some sort. 

“They’ve killed the archaeologists.” Cal gestured to the carts and digging equipment scattered and unused, around the submerged foundations of ancient stone columns.

“Why can’t they just use a body that’s already dead. Nord ruins are full of those.”

“They claim the fresher the body, the better their results. One of the reasons the practice is outlawed; most devoted necromancers are also accomplished murderers.”

“I could very easily have gone to my grave without ever knowing that. Thanks.”

They picked their way down and around the ruined foundation; coming across and dispatching the remaining mages lurking about in wait for them.

They found the staff propped against the wall next to an old trunk full of odds and ends. Cal found her magicka potions and they both got a handful of coin purses and jewelry to show for their efforts. Rumarin refused to consider how those things had come to be there; clearly the possessions of the murdered victims. He decided he preferred robbing graves that had had longer to rest than these.

Cal took the staff for a walking stick.

“Enthir had better be grateful to get this back, the weaselly little shit.”

“Whatever he pays you with, had better get you the balance on a house.”

“I agree.”

They retraced their steps outside and headed down to the road and on towards the city of Windhelm, a chill wind at their backs.


	22. Chapter 22

“I may have lied, you know. Earlier, when I said I didn’t know what I wanted to do. I know. I just don’t think I can.”

“Why not?”

They were curled together in the post coital tangle of their bedrolls, in the hayloft over Windhelm’s stables. Rumarin’s friends, a cheerfully flaky altmer fellow and his very business minded wife, had insisted on putting them up for a few days before they continued to the College. They had taken full advantage of the downtime and the relative privacy. As sleep eluded them, their late -night conversation continued.

“It’s selfish, no? I’m supposed to be out fighting dragons. Protecting people. I can’t do that if…”

“Says who?”

“Says everyone! There’s a prophecy and the Greybeards, and the Blades, and all of it!”

“Well, where are they, then? I’m sorry, Cal, but what in Oblivion are they setting you up for when they won’t get out here themselves? Last I checked, you weren’t the only person capable of fighting in all of Skyrim.”

“But I am the only one capable of killing a dragon for good. So, I have to decide between what I must do and what I want to do. And I didn’t want to do that, so I put it off. But I can’t anymore; I’ll be out of choices soon. That’s not fair to anyone.”

“Cal, if you really think that you’re…fated to do this, or whatever, then wouldn’t fate have accounted for you being pregnant? I mean, either you believe that something is directing all of this, so it’s meant to be, or you don’t, which means the decision is yours free and clear.”

She watched the candle flame flicker a bit as it burned low in the lanterns housing, chewing her lip in thought.

“Maybe fate doesn’t matter. I want to have this baby. I know that sounds crazy; I have no plan, no place to live. I must figure out how to fight dragons and all the rest. The timing couldn’t be worse, but this is one of the only good things that’s happened to me since I got here, and I don’t want to give it up without at least trying.” She blurted it all out in rush, as if afraid something might stop her from saying it. 

“Well, you know what they say. Timing is all about something or other.” Rumarin shrugged. “My only question is; what are you planning on doing should what’s -his- face ever show up?”

“Besides punching him and demanding to know what the fuck he was thinking, not answering my letters?”

“Besides that, yes.”

“I’d hear him out, I suppose.”

“And after that? I could always shoot him, you know.”

“I think you just want to shoot someone. You don’t get enough of that in the ruins?” Cal smacked his shoulder in gentle reprimand, snorting quiet laughter. She sobered before continuing. 

“But I’d have to decide if his excuse was worth it. He is this child’s father. If he wanted to see them sometimes, we’ d have to work that out. He has family here. It might be nice to have aunts and uncles who could visit, too. Maybe.”

_Right. There’s that. Family. Not something I can offer._

“Well, you seem to have more of a plan than you thought.”

“Are you angry? You sound angry.” She sat up and scraped her hair out of her face. “You’re not still jealous? Or…have you changed your mind about me?”

“Come back here.” He pulled her back down against his chest, fingers in her hair, seeking to soothe the unhappy tension in her. _She made her choice. I’m here. There’s nothing left to be jealous of._

“Cal, I’m not angry. I am a lazy, procrastinating, coward. The only two things I’ve ever been any good at are cooking and being less than honest about my many shortcomings. No, three. I can shoot pretty damned well. All that will probably never change. What I’m not is some asshole with a prerequisite list of conditions for finding you worthwhile. You are so very worthwhile. It’s almost scary.”

“But...?” 

He reached down and grabbed a handful of one of her ample cheeks and gave it a squeeze. 

“ _Butt_. No. What I was going to say is, I don’t know anything about fate one way or another, so it’s your decision and your plan. I’ll support whatever you choose.”

She relaxed against him, then, so he could relax, too.

“What’s almost scary?” She piped up again after a few minutes.

“Ugh. You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?”

“Say what?” She dug her fingers ticklishly into his side, making him squirm. The tickle turned to a caress, fingers slowly stroking circles over a nipple while she pressed kisses to his chest and belly. 

His breathing hitched, swelling against her once more as she hooked a leg over his hip and slid her wet folds over him, teasing. 

“You’re torturing me.” He whined when she slid away before he could press himself into her.

“You told me that if I got you like this, you’d do anything. So, tell me.” 

“Serves me right. I can’t believe you actually listen to me.” He sighed and rubbed his hands over her hips and her back. “Fine. What’s scary is how fast I’ve fallen for you. I’m still not convinced this isn’t just some wild fever dream and I’ll wake up and find out none of it was real.”

“And I just compared being in love with you to being sick…I tried to warn you, I’m not good at this whole ‘romantic gestures’ thing.”

“I think I’m over ‘romantic gestures’. Every man I’ve ever met who went in for those vanished whenever things got messy. This is the most chaotic my life has ever been. And you’re still here. I love you for that more than anything else.” 

She drew his hand up, sliding his fingers into her mouth to suck and lick before guiding his hand downward. Not that he needed the directions. He was getting good at getting her off. 

“As for making you feel feverish, good. I shouldn’t be the only one. Now you’ve gone and got me all wet and achy. I want you to fuck me again.”

“That I can do.” He tumbled her over and back into their bedding. 

The conversation dropped off entirely and the only sounds after were the grunts, gasps, and thick wet sounds as their bodies moved together fiercely, racing each other to the finish, not even interrupted by the occasion stomp or snort of the horses’ downstairs.


	23. Chapter 23

Ulundil and Arivanya were eating their lunch when Rumarin wandered in looking for breakfast. Cal was still asleep; he’d left her to catch up on her rest while he caught up with his friends.

“Late night?” Ulundil grinned and tossed him the bread and an apple, indicating with a sweep of his hand that Rumarin ought to help himself to the butter, jam, and anything else he wanted.

“Do you really have to ask?”

“Hey, no shame here. It’s good to see you happy again.”

Rumarin couldn’t stop the corner of his mouth from twitching up in a smile at that. It was good to be happy again. 

“Are you two going to do any sight -seeing while you’re here?” Ari asked as she sipped her tea. “You could take her to the hot springs. Or there’s that haunted lighthouse tour. Maybe horker watching? It’s Windhelm; that’s pretty much all there is, you know.”

“I don’t know how much she’ll want to do. Sleep seems like a pretty good thing right now, and you know me, I can always go for a nap.”

He cut up the apple and waited for the slices of bread set on the hearth to toast. 

“No, wait. Maybe there is something. Are there any houses for sale, do you know?”

“Now isn’t that odd you should ask.” Ulundil leaned back in his chair and stretched his long skinny legs out to cross at the ankle, so his feet were closer to the fire. His socks were mismatched. He’d left his work boots outside, horse droppings being a major occupational hazard.

“They just put up a place the other day. Hjerim, it’s called. Big mansion up on the Valunstrad. There’s a notice up on the board in the tavern.”

“I think a mansion is little over our heads. And our budget, at the moment.” 

“Might be. Then again, it might not. The price is quite low.”

“Husband, don’t send them up there.” Ari muttered and reached across the table to poke at Ulundil’s arm as she got up to clear the plates.

Rumarin took a bite of his toast and looked back and forth between the two expectantly. “Well? What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s a murder house.” Arivanya sighed when her husband showed no sign of speaking up. “That serial killer everyone was talking about? That’s where he took the women. Cut them right up in one of those rooms, too, before they caught him dumping one of the bodies. Something about trying to resurrect his dead sister. Beyond creepy, if you ask me.”

Rumarin gulped in horror, nearly choking on his mouthful of toast. He grabbed Ulundil’s tea and managed to rinse it down.

“Ari and I were thinking of going up and having a look at it.”

_“No, we were not.”_

“I just meant for the intrigue, not to buy it. Piece of Windhelm history, now. As much as you’ve been gossiping about it all winter, I figured you’d want to see it in person.”

“Please do me one teensy favor?” Rumarin interrupted, “Don’t tell Cal about the murder house. Haunted lighthouse tours sound downright pleasant by comparison. I’d even go horker watching, if she wants.”

“It can’t be any more boring than horses.” He heard Arivanya mutter under her breath.

“Well, if money is an issue, I saw a bounty posted on some bandits next to the one about the house. Set up in an old hull of a wrecked ship not too far from here. If horkers are too tame for you.” Ulundil took his tea back. “Or, you could just get back to fucking around up in the loft. Perfectly good way to spend the day. Unless you wore her out already. If she sleeps more than you, that’s something.”

“Is it possible that in the weeks I was gone, I actually forgot what a pervert you can be?” Rumarin shook his head, bemused.

Ulundil grinned, unapologetic. 

Once Cal was awake, she agreed to check out the wreck.

Hiking north of the city to the coast was a cold affair. The wind whipped across the sea of ghosts and flayed their faces even behind scarves and warm hoods. Rumarin’s fingers were numb inside his gloves and Cal had to lean forward against the push. As they neared the water, the land became low, flat, and scrubby with the occasional large boulder or sheet of rock scraped clean in ages past by glaciers. The craggy sheer bluffs that made up much of the Pale relaxed into coastal tundra for a space before becoming beach. The air took on the briny tang of the sea. Gulls and terns wheeled overhead, crying their mournful cries, occasionally fighting over a fish one or another had caught. 

They passed by an enormous tree trunk tossed up by a storm, water smoothed and older than anyone’s guess. Cal ran her hands over it, looking tiny by comparison. 

A pod of horkers had hauled out on a sand bar. 

“What do you know, we get horker watching anyway. And we didn’t have to pay for it. Would you look at that.” Rumarin shaded his eyes with one hand and hopped up on a rock to get a better view. He reached down and hauled Cal up.

“Oh, look at the little ones! I didn’t know the babies had mustache whiskers too!” 

Sure enough, several little horkers were cuddled into the pile of adults lounging around on the sand.

“They are kind of cute, aren’t they?” 

They appeared velvetier in texture than the grown ones, whose hides were creased and scarred. After spending a few minutes observing the massive animals, they skirted around in a wide path to avoid any confrontations. Horkers were lazy if left alone, but territorial when anything got too close. And the size of some of those males…Rumarin had absolutely no interest in antagonizing something that weighed as much as a small ship and had tusks the size of his legs.

The wreck itself was wedged into a long thin finger of sandbar not far off the shore. It was crushed about the edges and cracked apart at the centerline. It had been someone’s old fishing trawler; probably abandoned after getting stuck in the winter pack ice. It had eventually thawed free and come to rest where the bandit gang could use it as shelter while out to prey on passing ships on the bay to Windhelm.

Waves and spray washed up against one side of it, and while it was possible to reach it by traversing the sand bar, it would be careful footing the entire way. This was no place to get wet feet.

“Hey?” He nudged Cal as they started picking out a path. “What lies at the bottom of the ocean and twitches?”

Cal frowned, thinking it over, magic flaring in her hands. “Sea anemones?”

“Well…yes. If you have to be literal and take all the fun out of it.”

“Alright, what is your answer?” Cal humored him.

“A nervous wreck!”

“I should have guessed it would involve a shipwreck seeing as we’re looking right at one.”

“What did the ocean say to the pirate?” Rumarin mused as he drew his summoned bow. The surge and rush of the waves and wind drowned out the soft thrum of conjured magic.

“I sea you there but you’ll have to wait for ahoy tide?”

“Aww. That one is really good. You’re getting better at this. But the answer is; Nothing. It just waved.”

Cal groaned at that one. 

One of the would-be pirates climbed up from below and clambered to a spot near the pilothouse, the new shift for the watch.

“Alright, here’s my last one for today.” Rumarin leaned down for a quick kiss on the top of her head. “Why don’t pirates bathe before they walk the plank?”

He took aim, adjusting for the wind. Cal raised up her hands, fire and lightning, ready and waiting.

“So their bad smell drives away the sharks?”

“Because they’ll just wash up on shore later.” He fired the first arrow.

The watchman staggered, then screamed. The seemingly quiet hull sprang to life, men and women grabbing weapons and setting to their defense. 

Cal hit one and sent them diving overboard into the frigid waters to quench the flames, bright flashes of lightning accompanied by feline yowling. There was a brief odor of singed fur before the wind whipped it away.

The small battle waged on, bandits firing arrows and daring them with insults on their mothers to get in close enough for blades, while Cal and Ru took full advantage of their preferred ranged tactics to thin out their numbers. When the deck cleared, they dared to set foot on the weather damaged wood. 

The hull creaked and groaned; water slapping and gurgling somewhere in the depths of its belly. A salt pitted brass bell lay canted on its side down in the brine, rolling with the surge of water. The cabins below decks were at an angle, but that hadn’t stopped the brigands from rigging hammocks and setting up crates and boards as makeshift extra flooring. 

The gang’s leader had called a retreat into what had once been the captains quarters. It was a tight corridor to shoot down. Rumarin dismissed his bow and called up his sword, swallowing in anticipated revulsion as he did so. He hated to get in close. Much easier to pick them off at a distance.

Cal dropped her spells, a danger to herself and Ru in an enclosed area, and drew a dagger. She paused to lace it with a vial of something from one of the pockets on her pack.

They pushed through the doorway, blades at the ready.

The bandits rushed forward, weapons raised. 

Cal dodged an overhand blow and stuck her dagger up under the arm, finding the seam and sinking the blade into the soft tissue of the armpit. She wrenched the blade free, throwing her weight behind it. The man dropped his sword. His weapon arm useless, he sank to the floor, off hand clamped to the wound to staunch the flow of blood. She kicked him in the head and he was out.

Rumarin cut down the same khajiit that Cal had singed earlier, now soaking wet and shivering, blade slicing down from the shoulder across the chest and belly amidst a scattering of loosened hair, entrails bulging through the cut.

He parried a cut from a nord woman, sidestepping to come around with a return cut; she staggered. He drove the point through her armor. She gasped, twisting to wrench his blade away, opening the wound further. 

He stepped back, disengaging and shrugged off most of a mace blow that glanced against his shoulder. The bandits’ leader had stepped into the fray.

“Ow! Damn you, nord. Why can’t you get a real job?” He taunted as he spun away, trying to keep the woman between himself and his latest attacker. His arm went numb, nerve damage from the strike sending sickening tingles and weird aches all the way down to his fingers. 

The nord woman tried to get past him and out the door. As she stepped into the hall, clear of everyone, Cal sent a current of lightning through her and she dropped, twitching to the floor.

Cal went after the mace wielder next. She and Rumarin tag teamed him, forcing him into a defensive stance. The instant he moved to strike at one of them, the other would step in and attack. Until Cal feinted towards him and took his attention away from the glowing summoned blade. 

Rumarin took his head off at the shoulders.

No sooner had Rumarin turned to ask Cal if she was alright, then the little mage was bolting for the door. The room was hot and close with the reek of spilled blood and torn guts.

He rushed out after her, only to find her doubled over, one hand braced against the wall, puking.

“Eww. Please don’t get that on my new boots.” He took a step back. “Can I get you anything…water? That’s pretty much all we’ve got.”

“…Sorry.” She coughed, managed a steadying breath, and straightened up, cautious. “The smell just got to me. I think, once we are back outside, it will pass.”

“If you’d rather, you could wait up on the deck while I go check that chest?”

“Please. That would be…much…preferable.” She covered her mouth and bolted for the stairs back outside.

Rumarin held his breathe as much as possible and went back in to collect any expensive shiny things these would be pirates might have amassed. 

“And I thought they smelled bad when they were alive.” He muttered to himself as he went through their take.

Noticing a thick soft cloak of snow bear fur enhanced with what he hoped might be cold resistance, he swapped his thinning old out for it. The new weight twinged against his injured shoulder, setting the whole area to throbbing in time with his heartbeat; dull and persistant.

He could really use a healing spell but that would have to wait until Cal was feeling better. Looking around, he spotted a few small inexpensive potion bottles, one of which was a telltale red. He pulled the cork with his teeth and drank it. It didn’t help much but it would have to do for now. 

Then he packed up the gold, jewelry, and one glass dagger that gleamed with a soft enchantment of some sort. Neither he nor Cal needed another dagger. The glass itself was a pretty aqua color, liquid clear and slightly rippled like the seas in warmer climates, and worth a nice sum by itself. The addition of magic made it too valuable to pass up. _And if it turns out to be better than the one either of us has, so much the better._

Taking one last look around, he stepped carefully back out the door and headed up to check on her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hc Ulundil and Arivanya as being the altmer version of hippies. 
> 
> I recommend googling baby walruses because they are ridiculous looking and cute. 
> 
> Yes, I have been told I'm terrible at writing fight scenes. Can't do anything about that but practice. 
> 
> Also-I got a new job that starts tomorrow. (may 1) I don't know what that's going to do to my writing/posting schedule. Hopefully not much but if I don't update as often, then thats why. 
> 
> and last but not least- thanks for reading!


	24. Chapter 24

Hadvar groaned and sank down at his small, overly tidy desk. He couldn’t even bring himself to look at the heap of papers and missives piled up in the inbox. The march back to Solitude after a week of waiting out the Stormcloaks had taken its toll. No sooner had he reached to unlace his boots than General Tulius was in the doorway.

“Hadvar, on your feet, soldier!”

“Sir, yes, sir!” Hadvar straightened his spine and waited for orders.

“There’s a staff meeting starting in five. Get yourself sorted and be there.”

“Yes, sir!”

The General turned and left, leaving Hadvar to catch himself with one hand on the edge of the desk as exhaustion crashed back over him. Never the less, orders were orders. He dragged himself back up, splashed some cold water on his face, and did his best to get his armor as close to presentable as it was possible to do in less than five minutes. He grabbed a slab of bread and cheese off a passing servants cart along the way and crammed it into his mouth as he walked, certain to brush the crumbs away before he stepped into the room.

General Tulius was in close conversation with Rikke and one other Legate, an Orsimer, whose name he didn’t know. The table before them was spread with maps, stacks of correspondence, and a small crate of different colored pins. Hadvar could see from his vantage point that several forts and hold capitols as well as troop locations and supply routes had all been marked out.

“Excellent. We can get started.”

Hadvar finished his salute and relaxed into an attentive listening stance, fighting the urge to yawn.

“We have some weeds cropping up in our own backyard. Fort Hraggstad; what do you know about it?”

He thought about it for a moment.

“It was among the original Imperial forts built here in Skyrim. It was strategic to guard the northern coasts as well as our borders with High Rock and to provide for troop movements and supplies coming through the Druadach mountains as well as here…. If I recall correctly, it was decommissioned after the Great War.”

“Decommissioned…a polite way of say _abandoned_. But yes, you are correct on all counts. It has come to our attention that it is empty no longer.” General Tulius pressed a small blue pin that signified Stormcloak into the map and gestured to the other Legate to step forward.

 _They’ve gotten that close?!_ Hadvar stared and swallowed, not daring to say anything. _Backyard, indeed._

“We’ve recently received intel that Ulfric Stormcloak has been undermining our efforts in several holds by sending groups of mercenaries and bandits to take up residence in places he can’t occupy through any other means. These came to our attention when they started attacking civilians and farm holds in the area. It took some work to track them back, but they’ve taken up residence in Hraggstad. According to their leader, Ulfric gifted the place to them. He is to issue them all pardons for any crimes committed in his service.” The Legate stepped back again.

“He doesn’t command soldiers. These are common criminals!” Rikke spat. “It’s our duty to oust them.”

“I agree. Unfortunately, Ulfric is clever. He may not have the men he needs to hold this fort, but he can damn well bleed me of a few of mine while I play catch up.” 

Hadvar hadn’t spotted it before, but a vein was throbbing along the General’s neck and his jaw muscles bunched. Tulius was furious.

“He’s not wrong, either.” The Orc Legate’s tone was steady. “He may not have the men, but if we did, that fort would never have been left open in the first place. It’s in good condition. Better than some of the ones we kept staffed. Getting in will be difficult. General Tulius tells me you have experience fighting bandits and that you recently helped end a minor siege against an elite team of Stormcloak infiltrators, so we’re in agreement that you have what it takes to complete this mission.”

“The scouts are already on their way. You have five hours to get some sleep, food, and get your gear checked and switched out if need be. You’ll meet up with them at this location.” The orc handed Hadvar a two page scroll of orders, one of which was a detailed terrain map of the area.”

“And Hadvar?” General Tulius called as he was on his way out the door, “You get those thieving brigands the fuck out of my fort _by any means necessary._ ”

“Yes, Sir.” Another final salute and he was heading back to his cot to get some much-needed sleep.


	25. Chapter 25

They arrived back in Winterhold in time to catch a rare clear day. The ocean glowed with a soft mauve haze along the far horizons where the sunlight sparkled off snow blowing across the ice flows. A few small fishing boats were visible offshore. A ship in the distance was making its precarious way through those floes towards Morrowind. 

Diamond bright light flickered off the branches of evergreens where birds sheltered, chirping.

Sunlight brought everyone outside. Despite the cold, children were building a snow fort. A dog barked at them from someone’s porch, now swept free of snow. Adults walked in pairs or small groups, taking a comfortable pace instead of the rush to get indoors. Breath steamed in conversations.

Rumarin was surprised at how many people lived here. He had thought the town nearly deserted; the only locals had seemed to be the handful of folks who drank at the Inn. While quite a few old foundations were visible poking up through the drifted snow, he could see now that several of the buildings off the main street were under construction. Several workers were taking a break, lounging against a sawhorse while they ate.

The College, by contrast, was as dreary as ever. A thick coating of frost on almost all the windows and the chill wind wailing through ensured that no true warmth could reach the place. Mage light floated over a workstation where students were clustered in a group concocting a potion by recipe under the less than watchful eyes of a senior student who was doing nothing to hide her utter boredom.

They took the stairs up to the second level and found Enthir in his dorm room, for once.

“You knew.” Cal accused. 

Feeling nauseous on and off over the last few days as they had traveled had put her in a bad temper. She had spent the time coming up with ever more colorful and ridiculous punishments for the morally dubious wood elf. Rumarin had enabled the distraction by adding a few anatomically improbable suggestions of his own.

“I…Cal! You’re back! You got my staff!” 

“What I got, Enthir, is that you wanted this back because you were concerned about what use it might be put to.”

“I can’t be held responsible for what my clients choose to do with their purchases after…”

_“Enthir!”_

“…I may have heard a rumor.”

“Well, I would hate for that rumor to reach the archmage. With your name added in.”

“Cal! Whoa, let’s not be hasty.” Enthir held both hands up, eyes wide in faux innocence. Then he sighed and gave in. “After we’d made the deal for the staff, I heard she had some fool notion to try something stupid. I got concerned. When I asked her to trade back for something else, something better, she wouldn’t play. That’s when I knew the rumors might have weight to them; it was that staff, specifically, that she had wanted. I didn’t want trouble. I had to get…creative…about how I got it back.”

“She? Oh, no, Enthir. It was _they_. Plural. A cult. They’ve murdered quite a few people off the east road in the last months. Including an entire archaeological team.”

Enthir had gone a strange chalky shade; he sat down on the edge of his narrow bed. 

“That stupid…Cal…I didn’t know. I swear. I’ll get you whatever you want. Here’s the item I was holding for Arniel in exchange for the staff.” He reached over to heft a large soul gem off a shelf and hand it over.

“What is this?”

“It’s the soul gem Arniel wanted.”

“Are you sure? It doesn’t look quite right?” Cal held it up to the light, tilting it this way and that. 

Rumarin noticed it appeared to have a large inclusion through the center that broke the light refraction into uneven little rainbows.

“He asked for a warped soul gem; that’s a warped soul gem.” Enthir shrugged. “Just, please don’t put my name in the Archmage’s _anything_ in connection to necromantic murder cults? Or in general? Please?”

“Fine. For now. But if it ever happens again…” She left the threat hanging. She also left the gem as she turned and ran for the nearest spare bucket, somewhere down the hall by the storage room. 

“…Eugh.” Enthir turned away from the retching noises. “Is she alright?”

“Not to worry, it’s not contagious.” Rumarin not-lied as he pocketed the soul gem. “She’ll be fine. But that reminds me. I’ve heard you can get anything. And this _might_ put you back on her good side. Or closer to it, anyhow.”

“No promises. But what can I get for you? More importantly, what can you give me for it?”

“Candied ginger. And this enchanted dagger.”

“…That’s it?” Enthir looked nonplussed.

Rumarin nodded. 

Enthir sighed and got up off the bed, stooping to reach beneath it. He pulled free a locked case. Lifting a key from around his neck, he popped the latch and set it up on the bed. As he did so, a chain connecting the case to the bedpost became visible. He checked the doorway to make sure none of his colleagues were nearby before opening it.

Inside the case were several padded and warded compartments filled with an assortment of items; packages of tender dried fruits, chocolates shaped like flowers or seashells, delicate little ganache cups filled with candies swimming in vibrant syrups, all magically preserved. Bottles of extremely expensive alcohol, soaps that smelled like an herb garden in the height of summer, and a few tiny exquisite vials of perfumes and colognes.

Enthir carefully sorted through until he found what he was looking for; a packet of bite sized pale amber chunks coated in crystalline granules of sugar. 

“You keep _food_ …in a case chained under your bed? You do realize that up until people see what’s in that case, the expectation you’re building is for something vastly different?”

“Shhh. I know. But if I didn’t, someone would steal it.” He pointed to the syrupy candy. “A dozen of those cost as much legally to bring over from Summerset as a purebred horse does here. And they languish for so long on the way over that most of the time, the spells wear off and they’re spoiled mush by the time they arrive. I charge the same rate, plus a ‘finder’s fee’, and get it here in almost half the time.”

“Fine; its expensive. But smuggling food?”

“Look, you may have noticed you’re not the only Altmer this far away from home.”

“Speak for yourself, Bosmer. I was born and raised in Cyrodiil. Anyway, I can’t afford a horse, so I don’t care what you do with those. But I will take this. And let me know if you get any more.” He took the packet and handed Enthir the dagger.

“I meant no offense. The enchantment? What does it do?”

“No idea.” Rumarin shrugged and headed down the hall to find Cal, leaving Enthir to lock up his case of contraband in a sort of bewildered huff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My new job is great but its kicking my butt. So I've only been able to pick away at writing a little in the evenings before I pass out. Job's seasonal tho, so by July it should be over.  
> According to the wiki page on it, necromancy is technically legal to practice in Skyrim and everywhere else. But that "the population is very disapproving of its practice and might even treat necromancers with hostility". I imagine its heavily regulated, ie. illegal w/o a permit or some such. Mages can practice at the college because its part of the conjuration school, they would have proper facilites, supervision (supposedly), a specific research purpose, but not too many other places. Definitely not in random caves on people they corpsified.


	26. Chapter 26

They sold the gem to Arniel Gane, who was more than happy with the ruined thing. Cal was happy with being paid. She was also happy with her ginger, popping a piece into her mouth every so often. She split both the payment and the candies with Rumarin. He accepted the former but kept the latter to one piece.

“Let’s go to the Inn,” He suggested as they were heading down the bridge. “I’m in the mood for some ale and fresh-out-of-the-oven horker loaf and we can see if anything new got posted. While we sit by the fire.” His new cloak was thicker but apparently the enchantment repelled spells, not cold.

Cal looked guilty all of a sudden.

“I can’t. I said I’d go with Tolfdir and the other students to see that old dig site he’s been working on. They already left. I have to go now if I want to catch up before it gets dark.”

“Oh. I guess I can wait for you? Assuming I can’t go, what with not being a member of the college and all.”

“Right. Sorry. I’ll meet you at the inn later.” She reached up for a kiss goodbye and then she and her massive pack headed off down the road that led out of town and along the coast.

The moment she was away from him, he began worrying. _What if she was attacked? What if she ran out of ginger? What if his sense of humor came in handy for something?_ That last one wasn’t too likely, but he could hope. He missed her already. Plus, he had been hoping to get a look inside those ruins. Saarthal was the oldest underground citadel in Skyrim. He didn’t get to see that every day. He’d pester Cal about sneaking him in next time. Maybe rolled up in a tarp or something. 

He shoved through the inn door and placed his order. He checked the notice board while he was waiting, but the only new thing was a bounty on a dragon. _She’s going to want to take that one._ He could almost hear her scolding him for passing it up, but there was no way he was going to suggest fighting a dragon to a pregnant woman. He suspected she’d find out and they’d end up going anyway but it didn’t need to come from him.

At the next table, a group of laborers were knocking back tankards of warm spiced mead after a long day of work. 

“Say, Avis, what are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing I can do. Buyer’s up and gone. Dead or something. Anyway, unless another buyer comes along, that house’ll just sit empty. Shame too, the damn thing is nearly paid for already. And all that hard work. I tell you, that’s the last time I take a commission for a custom design that’s more than one story.”

General murmurs of agreement came at that pronouncement.

Rumarin hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. But now that he had…. he swiveled around on the bench.

“Gentlemen, I couldn’t help but overhear. You say there’s a house for sale? Have you any more details? A friend of mine is on the market for a place right now and they’re having abysmal luck in finding anything.”

“Well, it’s the two-story place off Old Well Lane. Fellow who commissioned it was a bit of an odd duck, but he paid on time. I had no reason to think anything was wrong. Then he just up and vanishes. Last payment’s all that’s needed. If you think your friend might be interested, I can show you around.”

They worked out the details to meet at the house later.

Rumarin ate his meal with a renewed sense of gusto. The horker loaf was tender, flavorful, and baked inside a golden-brown crust. The ale could have stood to be colder, but Rumarin couldn’t fault folks around here for wanting things that were less cold. 

He wandered around town a bit after dinner, stopping in to Birna’s Oddments just before she closed for the evening. He sold off a few rings and small gems. He perused the book shelf and got a knowing look from Birna when he asked if there were any books about pregnancy or babies and how to take care of them. 

He left with a new pair of gloves for himself, a warm, pretty, green and gold hued scarf for Cal, and one new book. He didn’t think he’d get anything out of it on his own, but maybe he and Cal could read it together. Birna had warned him it wasn’t very good. 

Her exact wording had been that it was _‘written by a man who hadn’t got any children and probably never even married’_. But it listed the developmental stages for the infants of various races and what kind of behaviors were typical and which ones were considered alarming. 

The last item he had purchased was a small haversack. As much as he hated to admit it, Cal was right about being able to carry a few more useful things.

As he stepped back out into the street, he saw that the group from Saarthal had returned. Dust-coated students were hiking up the bridge in pairs and groups, laughing and talking. There was an air of excitement about them. Cal, talking to the Archmage, spotted him and waved. He waved back and waited until she broke away, the archmage heading back in the direction of the excavation. _Huh. I wonder if they found something._

“Hm. Missed you.” He wrapped his arms around Cal and kissed her. “Have you eaten dinner?

“I missed you, too. And no. I’m starving.”

“Great. Let’s go get you some food and I can tell you about the house we’re going to go look at later.”

“You…. _what?_ A house? Really?”

“Yes.”

“Fantastic! I can tell you about the big weird magical thingy we found.”

“A thingy? I’ve heard those are especially rare.”

She elbowed him in the side as they crossed towards the inn steps.

When Cal had eaten, they strolled together down the dark lane between buildings that led down to an old abandoned well before dead ending, literally, at the cliff beyond. Rumarin wondered how much bigger Winterhold had been before the collapse. 

The sky had remained clear even as the temperature dipped at sundown. Now it was a deep, otherworldly blue speckled with the first stars to come out. As they approached the house, the first of the moons was rising, and a pale iridescent fog of encroaching cloud cover drifting in from the east.

It was a beautiful night. 

Their breath fogged in white clouds, illuminated in the faint light thrown from a lantern across the street. Rumarin raised a hand and knocked on the door.

Several seconds passed and dread began to settle in; _this wasn’t for real, he’s not there._

The door swung open, and Avis waved them inside. He’d gotten a fire going and lit the candles in enough of the fixtures for the whole interior to glow warmly; an invitation out of the cold night all on its own.

They spent the next hour looking over each of the rooms; five altogether. The front door opened into a small living area with a fireplace and an adjacent apothecary lab. The upper floor had a fireplace as well as a separate entrance to the wrap around balcony. The head carpenter shared anecdotes about the construction and stressed the quality of the workmanship.

The cellar…when Avis had described it, he had called it a full cellar. Rumarin had therefore been picturing another similar level below. 

It was nearly a whole house unto itself. A large trophy room came first. Which, well, Avis _had_ mentioned the missing patron had been eccentric. After that, there was a long hall with a room on either side, one of which was a kitchen with a sizable hearth and room for shelves and cabinets and maybe a table. At the end of the hall, a short stair down opened into what had been the old well shaft, but had been redone with excellent stonework, into a bathroom.

Then Avis told them the price; he’d explained before that he’d let them have it if they could pay the final installment, but he hadn’t mentioned an amount until just then. Rumarin fought to keep a neutral face. He had no idea what Cal’s budget actually was. He hadn’t thought to ask. But if the way she was squeezing his hand was any indication, it was very doable. He hoped so; he had liked that little kitchen space. And there was no way they’d get this much house for anywhere near that price anywhere else without accepting serious problems as well.

The carpenter headed up to check on the fire and to let them deliberate.

“So…it’s a lot of house? I know you were looking for something smaller…I have some coin to add in if it helps.”

“I’ll take it.” Cal was almost vibrating with glee.

“Are you sure? Maybe we should ask him if anyone was murdered here?”

“What? Why would we ask that?”

“No, never mind. No reason.”

“I’m sorry we didn’t get to play snobs. It sounded like fun. But maybe we can do that at some other house where it wont matter because we didn’t mean to buy anyway.”

“That’s an excellent idea.” Rumarin laughed and kissed her. “Now, are you sure? We can’t exactly return this if it turns out we made a mistake.”

“Return it? Pffft. We could sell it for closer to the amount he was asking originally.”

“Cal, you’re a genius. This is why I love you. Can we go and pay this nice man for his nice house and then ask him to leave so we can go to sleep? It’s past my bedtime.”

Cal grinned and practically bounded up the stairs to go and find Avis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stuff in this chapter refers to Qaxe's Winterhold Rebuild mod which you can find on nexus. 
> 
> I headcanon Rumarin as being more of an auditory learner. He's good with jokes and so forth because usually people share those through telling them. But he can't learn a spell to save his life because reading does nothing to help him understand.


	27. Chapter 27

Savos Aren squinted thoughtfully at the orb hovering in the center of the room, as if he could somehow cause it to conform to his hopes and ambitions. The thrum of magic radiating off of it was damn near audible. It made the hair on his arms and the back of his neck stand up; he wondered if he scuffed his feet and poked Tolfdir if it would shock the other mage.

“As you can see, Archmage, it’s like nothing we expected to find here. While the historical records on Saarthal are spotty at best, we haven’t discovered any reference to anything similar ever being seen or stored here.” Tolfdir rubbed the back of his neck. 

He couldn’t hide the nervous quaver in his voice. Not from Savos. Not after all the years they had worked together.

“This thing frightens you, old friend?”

“I’ll admit, it makes me uncomfortable.” Tolfdir sighed. “It was too well guarded. The ancient Nords deemed this artifact dangerous. They wanted it buried and forgotten! And we just got a whole class of new students; after what happened to our last ones…. How can we ask them to exercise caution when we will not? Not to mention that Thalmor. I shudder to think…”

“Nothing will go wrong. You worry too much, Tolfdir. The moment we were able to pinpoint the energy signature as coming from here was the moment I knew we had something too good to pass up! I agree, the Thalmor is worrisome, but if we play this right, we might yet get him to see our side. They do respect magic, after all. All I need is some time. We’ll study it thoroughly, get a good idea of what it does, before we make any announcements beyond the College.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Aren.” Tolfdir sighed, shoulders stooped in fatigue.

“I’m putting us back on the map, old friend. Let’s gather the others. It’s gotten dark by now, we won’t trouble the villagers any. The less the Jarl knows about this the better. We can move it to the Hall of Elements. The foci there can contain it.”

“As you say, Archmage.”

The two mages turned and left, walking out towards the exit together.

Neither was there to notice the orb slightly increase in size. Almost as if it were waking up and stretching.


	28. Chapter 28

“What if other people down it for you? Can you kill it by taking the last shot? Or do you have to fight it the whole time?”

“I think I can just be the one to kill it. Or maybe I just have to be there to absorb the soul? I don’t know the technicalities. No one has been able to explain much of the details.”

“So, a bunch of recluses up on a mountain who go decades without talking to anyone really haven’t got all the answers. Who’d have thought.”

“They’ve helped where they can; I wouldn’t know most of the shouts I do if it weren’t for them. I could ask Delphine. She said the Blades used to be dragon hunters, ages ago, before they started guarding the Septim Emperors. I’ll have to send her a letter; find out if she agrees. And I could write to some of the Jarls.”

They had taken the dragon contract. Calpurnia’s reasoning had, of course, been solid. Fewer dragons for Skyrim; more coin for them. Another dragon soul to help her on her path. She was still fit enough to manage it. While they had made it through the fight, Cal’s healing abilities had come in heavy use. On the way home, Rumarin had broached the subject with her about how much longer she thought she might be able to keep up jobs like that.

Upon their return, a visit to Colette Marence, head of the College’s restoration school and lead healer in the Pale, to patch up the cuts and bruises Cal hadn’t had the energy to fix had dampened some of her expectations. 

Cal was in excellent health. Colette had told her that she could probably continue her current activity levels for most of her pregnancy so long as there were no unforeseen changes. The elder healer had also cautioned her strongly against things like dragon battles.  Which meant she would need help soon. She and Rumarin had been arguing the logistics of it ever since. 

“That reminds me, I’ve been working on some dragon jokes. Tell me what you think?”

“I’m going to hear them anyway, aren’t I?”

“Eventually. But who wants to wait that long?”

It was late afternoon. They were camped out on the upper level of their house, which they’d staked out as their bedroom. With no actual furniture to their names yet, they simply spread their bedrolls out on the floor. It wasn’t the height of luxury, but it was warm, dry, and devoid of roots or rocks jabbing into the spine.

Rumarin was overawed to have found a home at all. He’d never lived in one place for more than a few years; always traveling, renting small, easily forgettable sorts of places. He hadn’t imagined Skyrim, with its brusque people, and brisk climate, would become his. Gazing down at Cal, he knew he could really have lived pretty much anywhere, as long as she was there, too. But they had still better try to get a real bed. _We’ll be needing a crib soon, too_. He shook that line of thought away. It got overwhelming, fast. He wasn’t quite ready to consider that far ahead.

“What do you call a dragon with a carrot in each ear?  Anything you want! He can't hear you.”

She snorted and shook her head.

“How do you come up with these?”

“It’s talent, mostly. Very underappreciated talent. I thought you knew that.”

She laughed and kissed him before stretching and getting to her feet. 

“Come on. We ought to at least try and get a list together of all the things we’re going to need for this place.”

“Does anyone here even sell furniture? There’s a blacksmith. And Birna’s. And…. that’s it.”

“We’ll have to get a cart and probably order things from Riften or Windhelm or Whiterun if we want anything.” 

“Ugh. That sounds like work…” Rumarin groaned and made a face. “You know how much I hate work…”

His complaining was interrupted by a knocking at the door. 

“Cal? Cal! Are you here?” Brelyna’s voice was muffled through the door. 

She was out of breath, having run down from the College.

“Cal, have you seen that thing? They set it up in the Hall of Elements…The Archmage won’t leave and neither will Ancano. It’s getting really weird. And…oh, hey, congrats on the house!”

“Thank you. Has anything actually happened?”

“No. But you could cut the tension with a sword. Exams are coming up and no one can get any studying done with that thing there. I swear it’s emitting a low humming noise. No one’s sleeping well. And this morning at breakfast, Drevis said he stopped practicing his invisibility spells because, and I quote ‘it can see me anyway.’ Which is beyond spooky, even for him.”

“Maybe there is a way to ward it more, so it doesn’t bother people so much. We could ask the Archmage. I know the senior staff are all being asked to study it; maybe there is a way to work that in to their research?”

“I hope so. I don’t like it.”

“What’s Ancano’s interest in it? I don’t expect he said?”

“I heard him mutter something about ‘too powerful’, and ‘ignorant heathens’. I have no idea what he thinks it is or what he thinks to do with it, but the Archmage, Mirabelle, and Tolfdir all had to tell him, separately, to leave it alone.”

“On the bright side, Brelyna, this could be what finally gets him kicked out.”

“One can only hope. I still don’t like it. I can’t study when I’m this stressed out.”

Calpurnia glanced at Rumarin. 

“Brelyna? If you and the others help us find some cheap or free furniture and get it over here, you can use the downstairs to study where it’s quiet.”

“Sure.” Rumarin brightened. “I only hum a little. And I’ll cook.”

The words were barely out of his mouth when the other mage shot back. “Deal. As long as you don’t mind most of it coming from the storage rooms.”

They split ways after that; Rumarin to head to the Inn to see about buying ingredients and maybe borrowing a larger soup pot, the girls heading back up to the campus to round up the other students for their improvised scavenger hunt.

By the time the goat stew with chard and roasted parsnips, served with a dark beer and loaves of fresh pale bread, was ready to eat, they had acquired four mismatched chairs; a side table, three rugs, and a bookcase. Enthir claimed to have lines on some better pieces in the near future. Cal was reluctant to ask what he wanted in exchange.

The stew was a success as well; silence descended as food was eaten. While the college kept its students and faculty fed, the kitchen staff had been cut back along with everything else. Anyone who could afford to do so took their meals at the inn.

Brelyna and J’zargo were sitting on the floor before the fire surrounded by stacks of tomes and sheaves of parchment covered in notations; studying. J’zargo was purring softly to himself while he read over his notes, now bootless feet stretched close the hearth; toes flexing happily. Onmund had dozed off; a full stomach and less stressful environment granting some reprieve. 

Drevis and Enthir were engaged in a discussion of the formation of the current schools of magic over their drinks, based on a research paper that Enthir had been working on for the past several years which compared Dwemer magical artifacts to Falmer to modern.

Calpurnia was in the thick of it. 

Rumarin suddenly felt shy. Food, he could do. And he was thrilled that the meal had gone off so well, everyone had been generous with their compliments. But with only the one conjuration spell to his name, he was hardly a mage. He didn’t have anything to offer these people. It was like being surrounded by people speaking a foreign language that he should have understood but couldn’t. 

“Hey, Rumarin?” Enthir was looking over from his conversation with Drevis. “I meant to ask you before…where did you get those robes? Not from Winterhold, am I right?”

 _Shit. Here it comes._ He felt his face get hot, wishing he’d worn anything else.

Cal overheard and glanced up from where she was sitting with Brelyna. She must have understood his frozen look of panic because she gave him a little nod of encouragement.

He swallowed, suddenly regretting the third helping of stew he’d eaten; it felt like a rock in his stomach now.

“They’re, ah, they’re not real.”

“Seriously?” Enthir stepped over and had a closer look at them. “I’d love to know who made them? They’re the best copies I’ve seen in years. I wouldn’t mind getting their contact information, if you think they’d be interested in getting some more business.”

“Enthir,” Brelyna snorted, “What do you need fake robes for? You’re a member of this College. You already have real ones.”

“This one thinks Enthir does not want the robes for themselves.” J’zargo squinted at the bosmer mage. “Khajiit wonders who Enthir is trying to smuggle in.”

“I just need more business contacts.”

They exchanged a look. Brelyna shook her head and went back to her book.

“I guess I could tell you.” Rumarin conceded. “But what will you give me for it?”

For a split second Enthir’s eyes narrowed. Then he smiled.

“Find me later. We’ll work out a deal.”

“Alright then.”

“Cal tells us that you studied Conjuration.” J’zargo joined the conversation. “Why would you need fake robes if you went to school?”

Rumarin crossed his arms over his chest and considered how to answer this, as he had so many times before. Nothing new came to him. Cal’s expression was still supportive. That didn’t give him much to go on. _Oh well, here goes nothing._

“…I never actually graduated. I am a bona fide college dropout; I didn’t get to keep the robes. And no one would recognize those here anyway…”

“Have you talked to Phinis Gestor? He’s head of the Conjuration school here.”

“No. Maybe I’ll do that.” Rumarin smiled and hoped his tone didn’t give away the sarcasm. _I will not be doing that._

“Better a master of one spell than mediocre at many.” J’zargo curled his tail around his feet and went back to his notes. 

There were nods of agreement. 

He braced himself for the questions; why drop out, why hadn’t he applied himself more, studied harder, done anything else. But none came. The conversation moved on. Drevis was regaling everyone with his trial and error invisibility attempts and the often hilarious results.

It occurred to Rumarin that maybe it wasn’t mages that hated Bladebinders. Maybe it was just the mages he had gone to class with. _That figures._

He relaxed back into the stream of conversation in time for J’zargo to begin pestering him with questions about how bladebinding worked and how it compared to corporeal weapons. Given a topic he could speak on, he suddenly found himself explaining his favored weapons to an audience of interested students. 

“Maybe I’ll take Phinis’s Conjuration for Beginners next session.” Onmund, awake again, frowned in thought. “Being able to summon a weapon anytime you needed one would be really useful. I hate having to carry extra stuff around.”

“I know! So annoying.” Rumarin’s grin lit up his face.

The rest of the evening passed in easy conversation. Come dark of night, there were five errant college students camped out on their floor, wanting at least one decent night’s sleep before having to go back and suffer the presence of the artifact found in Saarthal.


	29. Chapter 29

Hadvar swung a leg over the saddle and slid down, fighting not to fall out of the stirrup entirely. Snow and mud churned up by the horses and wagons turned the whole area into a bog of stinking slush. Stretching his aching legs and back, he handed the reins of the dappled mare off to a stable hand and headed towards the command tent, trying to walk in a more or less normal fashion despite his ass being numb from days spent riding. 

_Did I say I wanted more field work? What was I thinking…_

The Imperial camp in the Pale was situated west of Dawnstar. Northerly winds brought a whiff of brine off the coast to his nose. Raised in Riverwood, he knew the scent of river water, recognized it in his bones; cool mud, fish, grass, and old leaves. Water that was potable if proper care was taken. Summers spent fishing and swimming.

The ocean was another entity entirely. The first time he had seen it from the battlements of Castle Dour, he had felt lost to the expanse of it. The smell was strange. He couldn’t fathom not being able to see a far shore or swim across. It wasn’t drinkable. Although he’d met a scout who insisted it could be made drinkable if one was able and willing to boil it under a contraption rigged up to collect and bottle the resulting steam. 

The coastlines felt too open to him; untamed wilderness and lonesome expanses. Wanderers, hunters, travelers, fishermen, and bandits were the only sort to make a habit of spending time here. 

He might not have understood the ocean beyond recognizing the dangers, as every Nord did. But he could understand its importance as a means of transportation. From here they could watch the port at Dawnstar; making note of which ships came and went and ensuring the Stormcloaks could not use it to bolster their supply lines. 

Ducking through the tent flap, he paused to let his eyes adjust to the dim interior. Mostly empty, the large space housed a table that at least six people could have sat around comfortably. There were four people standing around it now.

A narrow cot and standard issue chest were tucked back behind a large folding screen draped in bear hides to keep out the draft.  A series of worn carpets covered the floor. A wash basin was next to the entrance. One small travel scarred bookcase held several tomes; Hadvar could not make out the titles from where he stood but suspected they were military and tactics manuals. Goat horn candle holders were set on ever available surface, trying to illuminate the space so as to avoid opening the tent flap to the cold even if the gray daylight outside would have been better to see by. 

The small dresser shoved to the opposite side had a small posy of dried flowers on it. 

That made Hadvar smile just a tiny bit. Legate Rikke had a reputation for being a real hardass. As much or even more so than the General. It was nice to see little hints of an actual person underneath that from time to time. Although, the bouquet might have had practical use as well; scent or moth repellent or some such. He would guess that, given Rikke’s personality, the flowers were both.

“You all have your assignments. Get to it, then.” The three soldiers were dismissed and filed out past Hadvar, dispersing into the camp.

“Good, you’re finally here.” Rikke didn’t bother with a greeting. Straight to business. “How was Hraggstad?”

“Cold. Uncomfortable. And as our forces noted, full of bandits. Some surrendered. We took those into custody. A few we might turn and send back to Ulfric. The rest, well, their heads are decorating pikes on the outer walls now.”

Hadvar hated that part of his job. He’d held it together until he was no longer in sight of any of the others assigned to go with him before getting sick behind a small cluster of evergreens. It wasn’t the blood that bothered him. Soldiers saw plenty of that, so any fear or novelty tended to wear off quickly. It was the look in their eyes, tears and quavering voice, while they pleaded for their lives or prayed or cursed him. Enemy soldiers attacked and fought. It was clear cut. But executions were personal. He found he had no stomach for it. But it was over and done and the fort was cleared. That was all that mattered.

“Excellent work.” Rikke nodded and then gestured towards the paperwork on the table. “We have a new assignment for you.”

She directed his attention to several letters. Hadvar lifted them, tilting the pages towards the light to read. 

“These are personal correspondence.” He stated the obvious. “Who is Anuriel?”

“Anuriel is a citizen of Riften. More importantly, she serves as Laila Lawgiver’s steward.” Rikke clarified.

“This is… condemning.” Hadvar’s eyebrows shot up as the significance of those letters fell into context for him.

“We’ve already applied pressure to the appropriate parties.” Rikke leaned over the map, finger tracing the route from Riften to Windhelm. “We’ve learned there is a shipment heading out in a week. Weapons, armor, gold; everything Ulfric needs to keep up the fight. We’re going to seize it.”

 “How do I come into this?” Hadvar asked.

“You are going to lead the attack.”

“How many men? And where are we meeting up?”

They spent the next hour going over the plan. 

By morning, Hadvar was back on a horse, leading a small group of soldiers southeast towards Shor’s Watchtower. Situated about halfway between Riften and Windhelm, up in the foothills of the Velothi mountains, with a good view of the road and surrounding valley for several miles, the watchtower posed as good a place as any to set up the ambush. Too close to Riften, and the caravan guards would be fresh and alert for trouble. Too close to Windhelm, and they might be able to make a break for it, reaching reinforcements. Neither of those possibilities was acceptable.

Shor’s Stone was nearby; a glorified mining camp with a small trading post. Hadvar couldn’t recall which side of the war they favored at present, but keeping the skirmish from spilling over into civilian territory was another obstacle he faced. 

While he rode, he went over all the details in his head again, memorizing them. 

They made good time through the Pale and crossed into the Rift valley in time to get caught in a series of downpours that lasted over several days. The horses steamed in the cool humidity and men hunched under hoods and cloaks, miserable. They kept riding, slowing their pace only on the final approach as the rain let up and a thick fog settled in.

“Halt.” It was past nightfall when Hadvar gave the call. The horses whickered softly as they were reigned to a stop. 

He peered through the fog. Not that he could see anything. But the hair on the back of his neck was prickling. He strained in the murky soft darkness to make out anything that would tell him what had given him that feeling.

There was the sporadic drip of rain off tree branches. The soft sound of earth soaking up excess water. No crickets. No night birds or animals. No woodsmoke. Nothing. He dismounted and signaled for the others to do the same.

“What is it, sir?” A young imperial woman whispered. It took Hadvar a second to register that ‘sir’ was referring to him.

“It’s too quiet. We’re near enough the tower now; we should have been hailed. And we ought to be able to make out a torch or a fire, some signs of people, anyway. Something’s wrong.”

“What’s the plan, then?” A redguard man, a scout, features barely visible in the dark, peered into the gray fog ahead, brow creased in worry.

“We leave the horses here.” Hadvar whispered, “We go in low, quiet, and we stay together. We get a look at what’s going on and then decide from there.”

Nods and murmurs of acknowledgment all around.

The ringing sound of metal came as weapons were drawn. After tying off the horses, they crept slowly up towards the tower. Leaf mould and low branches of shrubby plant growth gave way to crushed gravel and packed earth, the open space of the tower yard. The silhouette of the wooden tower and its older stone foundation loomed over them. 

The quiet seemed to intensify. Then…

“I’ve got a body over here.” One of the men called out. 

Hadvar gave the order to light torches so they could search.

“Aye, here’s another. Throats been cut.” A woman’s soft voice chimed in.

The third guard was found, gutted and beheaded, a short ways off in some bushes where he had apparently given chase to whoever or whatever had attacked them.

“Fourth one is here. Neck’s broken. Looks like she went down the stairs.” An arrow shaft protruding from the dead woman’s leg gave cause for the fall.

“What happened here?” One muttered.

“Quiet.” Hadvar snapped. He understood the question well enough, it was the only obvious thing to ask, but these were younger soldiers, green, and given to mistakes. They’d gotten too chatty and it was making him nervous. The last thing he wanted was for them to develop bad habits that could result in their untimely deaths while under his command.

“Report.” He refocused them on the mission. “What have you noticed here.”

“The blood is still wet.” The Imperial woman again. 

Hadvar nodded; it was a good observation and the one he’d been hoping they’d make.

“It could be from the rain.” The redguard man. Also a good observation. Except…

“No.” She countered softly, “It would have dispersed if it happened before the rain. This is pooled and starting to congeal. It happened recently. After the rain, before we arrived.”

“Excellent.” Hadvar nodded to them both. “Now, here’s what we need to determine. If the Stormcloaks sent scouts through to take out the guards, then my concern is that the schedule for this shipment has been moved up. 

“Do you think someone tipped them off?”

“We need to find out where those wagons are.” Hadvar ignored the question. Entirely possible but it wasn’t their job to speculate. _We have more immediate problems._   “Split into teams; you two head north and see if we’ve missed it. You, head south, and see if it’s still on its way.  Be careful; stay low, stay quiet; we know those throatcutters are still out there and probably closer than we’d like. You are all to come back in one piece. That’s an order.”

Affirmations all around and the men and women headed out, disappearing into the fog.

Hadvar was left alone with the bodies. He made notes of their features and general descriptions to help with identification. Riften or the Empire would have records of who should have been stationed here. The families would get some closure. It was paltry, but all he could do under the circumstances. He did not move them or disturb them otherwise. 

It was past midnight when everyone returned. 

“It’s on its way. We didn’t miss anything; they got stuck in some mud and its taking them a while to get the wagon free. The rest are having to go around. They’ll be here by morning.” The southbound team reported. 

“Thank gods for that rain, then.” The first good news he’d had all night.

“There are some downed trees to the north along the road. We could move them easily enough. Slow the wagons down.” Northbound team had the second piece of good news.

“Good idea. We’ll work in shifts. You, go see about those trees. Move the largest one you can. Make it look natural. We don’t want them suspecting anything. You, scout out the area near the tree and find us some cover to set up. The rest of you, head up to the top of tower and get some sleep.”

“They must have sent the scouts out ahead to clear the way and prevent anyone from stopping or reporting them.” 

“Most likely. A good tactic, in theory. Too bad we happened along.” Hadvar’s sarcasm earned a few chuckles before everyone split up, some to work and others to rest. All except for one.

“Sir, shouldn’t we bury them?” The Imperial woman hung back, glancing at the dead guard closest to her.

“Not yet. If they have a secondary scout group moving with the wagons, and they should, they’ll check the towers along the way; verify that its as it was reported, before they move past. If we move those bodies or change anything…”

“Then they’ll know someone was here and change their plans accordingly.” Her shoulders drooped.  
“Exactly.” Hadvar nodded. “We deal with the caravan first.”

He took the first watch. The night passed swiftly, each one got about an hour of rest.

Dawn rose, pale silvery light brightening over the mountains through the fog and sparkling on rain wet leaves. 

He rounded everyone up, they ate a quick cold meal, and then headed off through the underbrush. They had an ambush to set up.

It wouldn’t do to be late.


	30. Chapter 30

The first arrows plunged into the last drivers neck, toppling him from the bench. The caravan was stalled now. No way forward, no way back.

Horses screamed and reared.

Guards grabbed for weapons and ran to defend.

Hadvar and company were outnumbered but the terrain helped; their quarry couldn’t get around. They had set up in the undergrowth uphill, the slope giving them advantage as they fired down into the caravan at will.

Chaos ensued. People screaming and steel clashing. Arrows struck down a man in Stormcloak blue who lay writhing in the mud. Hadvar took aim and fired at an enemy archer trying to scramble up the opposite bank to return fire. The arrow struck; the woman slid back down and was trampled by one of the horses. The guards swarmed up the embankment, bows were swapped for swords. Blood spattered hot against Hadvar’s face as the scout next to him cut the head off a Stormcloak.

He fought; cut, parried, stabbed, felling one. Then slashed and kicked away another. He turned to finish it only to have an arrow plunge through the mans eye; courtesy of the Imperial woman who had clambered up higher through the weeds to keep her vantage point. Her next arrow hit the woman who was climbing up on the last wagon, trying to get it moving and out of the way.

The redguard scout worked a longsword through swift attack routines, meeting his foe’s brute strength with superior skill. Three men rushed and fell to his blade before the rest back off to look for an opening.

Hadvar pivoted back a step, avoiding a cut that might have opened him shoulder to hip. He stepped back in and returned the favor, leather armor parting under his blade. Something hit his shoulder; pressure knocking him back a step.

An arrow shaft stuck from patch of maille that ran across his collar bones, over the leather jerkin and below the gorget. _Bodkin points_ ….It had punched right through. He didn’t feel pain right away, just the tight sensation of something _wrong._

He gritted his teeth and ripped the shaft out, praying the point came with it. It did. His armor had slowed the shot enough to keep it from going very deep. He didn’t have time to wonder over it; the next attack came at him in the form of a giant Nord berserker swinging a war hammer longer than Hadvar was tall.

It was all footwork, ducking and weaving, waiting until he had the opportunity to hop across some rocks. He pivoted around and cut upwards, the blade slicing the wrists. He jumped down and rolled, putting distance between himself and the enemy. Two arrows hissed past his head in quick succession; both shots missing.

Until Hadvar realized one of his men had stood up from cover. Both arrows had struck in the chest. The man tumbled back without a sound.

A dagger struck the berserker in the neck. An arrow hit him in the side.

Hadvar rose up, light on the balls of his feet; a step forward with the parry, pivot, and cut to the back of the leg. Hamstrung, the big man dropped to his knee.  The next cut took off his head.

More of the wagons guards had fallen to the others while he’d been busy. Advancing down from their positions, they made the guards pay for the audacity of aiding traitors.

They cleared each wagon, checking for anyone hiding in or below. The second to last wagon, Hadvar stepped up to inspect, a sharp hot pain lanced his thigh.

A man who’d been playing dead in the mud below the wheels had lunged up and stabbed him with a broken blade hilt. Hadvar ran him through before he could finish the insult he’d opened his mouth to utter.

It took the better part of an hour to get the horses calmed and the wagons back in mobile condition. The tree was moved away. Two scouts were sent to report back to Rikke.  The remaining soldiers got the lead wagon going again. The horses followed along with minimal urging.

They made good time, taking side roads whenever possible to reduce the number of witnesses. The wagons rolled into camp in the early hours after sunrise. 

Hadvar was running a fever by then, hunched miserably in the drivers seat; sweating and cold at the same time. Despite the washing he’d given it, the wound in his leg had festered, red, swollen, and oozing pus. Bandages and salve on the road had not done much to help beyond keeping him on his feet long enough to get to a healer.

He toppled off the bench and nearly pitched face first into the muck, shivering uncontrollably. 

“Get him to the healer’s tent, on the double.” Rikke glowered in disgust and the soldiers jumped to obey. “I need him fit to travel to Whiterun in a weeks time.”

Wanting nothing more than to bundle up in blankets and sleep forever without disturbance; Hadvar gave little resistance as he was half dragged, half carried, off.


	31. Chapter 31

Cal had stopped in the road dead ahead, head cocked, listening.

“What is it? Danger? I think my back may have just given out. Seriously, terrible timing. I'm so sorry...” Rumarin feigned a wince as he rubbed at an imaginary tight spot below the tiny haversack he carried.

“Shh.” Cal held up a hand for silence.

They were traveling to a ruin up in the foothills northeast of Whiterun at the behest of the Archmage himself. Labyrinthian. Even the name made Rumarin shiver. Nobody named a nice place anything like that. _Why can't we ever go looting at a place called Gratuitous Gold Heaps, or Sunny Shores, or Pleasant Lake?_

But lore held that the staff of Magnus, one of histories most powerful beings and the legendary creator of the mortal plane, was somewhere within. And with that magical sphere; the eye of Magnus, rolling waves of power out over nearly all of Winterhold, despite the College's best efforts to contain it, any help was deemed worth the risk, no matter how slim the probability that they would find this thing.

Their travel plans had included a stop over in Whiterun. They were out several miles out from the gates, having passed Hillgrund's tomb and yet to cross the White river. Even at this distance, the sounds were off, somehow.

Unusual low booms shook the ground. A distant din of men yelling. No birds or animals that would have normally been present. Something big was happening.

“It doesn't sound good.” Cal's brow was creased in concern. “You don't suppose...?”

“What?”

“Well, last time we were here, I overheard people in the tavern talking about Balgruuf and Ulfric Stormcloak. Apparently, Balgruuf has been carefully neutral. But it sounded like both sides were courting him, trying to force him to choose. If he finally did....”

“You think they're being attacked?”

“I think we may have to go around. I don't want to get tangled up in a battle. Morthal is a little further out, but if we need to resupply, we could make it there. It will add a day or so, but it might be safer.”

“Alright. It's your call. But, I thought you wanted to check in with that healer at the temple here?”

“I do, but if the war has hit here, she'll be too busy. Maybe we can find out whats going on and change our plans once we know more.”

“I just can't imagine that puffed up Jarl Ulfric getting the balls to actually attack a major hold. Won't it lose him support?”

“I don't know. I would have thought the Empire could have subdued his rebellion by now. But either they are in a lot weaker state than anyone realized before now, or Ulfric has more support and resources than anyone gave him credit for, because this doesn't show any signs of ending anytime soon.”

They crossed the river and kept to the norther boundaries of the hold, just below the foothills. In the distance, the top peak of Dragons Reach was just barely visible in a haze of smoke. Catapults, responsible for the noise, fired again.

An imperial banner flew over the walls. Stormcloak forces had set up around the gate, vollies of arrows arcing over.

Moving as far from the battle as possible while keeping their north east trajectory proved difficult; much of Whiteruns terrain was rugged. Cliffs above the river and jagged slopes of loose scree into the foothills made for slow progress. Rumarin hiked close behind Cal, tense and ready to catch her if she stumbled.

By nightfall, the fires were visible over a larger distance. A small herd of mammoths were plodding slowly away from the city, bothered by the smoke and activity of so many people. High up on a rocky ledge, Cal and Ru were resting, taking the opportunity to eat. They watched the enormous mammals wander on by below them, huffing and grumbling to one another, trunks swaying and tails swishing.

Rumarin looked over to see Cal smiling down at them. He reached over and tucked a strand of windblown hair back behind her ear.

“What's so funny?”

“Nothing. I like them, is all. That sort of rumbling noise the lead female is making? It's soothing. I don't know why, but I'm glad we got to see them today. It feels like a good omen; a moment of peace. As though if they can avoid the danger, so can we. That makes no sense, I know.”

“I heard they used to live in northern Cyrodiil, until they were hunted and driven out, hundred of years ago. “ He said, “Now Skyrim is the only place you can find them. When I was young I always wanted to see one. I got to visit a museum once that had a taxidermied one someone had found while plowing their farm. It was sort of flat and very wrinkly; not terribly impressive. It was still the biggest animal I'd ever seen. These are better.; still alive. And now we have dragons again, too. It makes me feel small, but not in a bad way. More like the world is still full of things to explore and discover.”

Cal made a small thoughtful noise and leaned against his shoulder.

They stayed and watched the mammoths lumber along on their way until the stars were beginning to shine and they had become swallowed up by the larger shadows that fell across the land.


	32. Chapter 32

Another strike shook the walls. The building next to him took a hit, wood and stone flying by. He dove low, arms over his head, staggering as the shockwave hit. Heat rushed past him, roaring above the ringing in his ears. Shouts for water somehow rising above the rest of the chaos and noise. He'd long since tuned out the screaming.

Hadvar pushed towards the high ground, taking the steps two at a time, dodging around couriers, officers, courtiers, and soldiers. He'd looked for Calpurnia among the civilians when they had arrived but hadn't seen or heard any word of her. He hoped that meant she was someplace far removed from the fighting.

Most of Whiterun's residents had had the good sense to stay inside the keep. Those that could fight were helping man the walls or working the bucket brigade that stretched from the well to the far reaches of the wind district. Aptly named; Hadvar watched a gust lift and funnel sparks out across rooftops that had yet to go up. He held his breath. No new fires broke out. He ran on.

Panting by the time he got to the top of the stairs in Dragonsreach, weakness leftover from days spent in bed recouperating, he shouldered past people streaming in and out of the makeshift headquarters belonging to Legate Quentin Ciprius. He commanded here; Legate Rikke was out on the walls. The Legate was in conversation with Jarl Balgruuf, updating him on the situation.

"The outer walls are strong. We can hold them there..." Balgruuf was saying.

“Sir, I have...” Hadvar moved into the Legate's line of sight.

"Take a moment to breathe, soldier." Legate Ciprius sounded calm despite all the goings on.

 _Shit. Was he that out of breath?_ As if on cue, a trickle of sweat ran down from his hair. He swiped at his brow. He gulped in air and tried again.

“But, Sir...?”

"They've damaged the walls. I don't know how much more of those catapults they can hold out against."

"Damnit. Where'd they get catapults? I wasn't expecting catapults." Balgruuf was pacing now.

Another boom sounded from outside, muted.

“The fires are the greater concern to me. Folk are working to stem the flames but they won't be able to keep up all night.”

"Well, does he wants to take my city intact, or not?" Balgruuf demanded. “If he keeps this up, all he'll get is a charred hilltop.”

"His men will be fighting in the flames, same as ours."

“Hardly a surprise; Nords are fearless. It's you Imperial milk drinkers I'm worried about."

"If you prefer I took my men and left...”

"No. Of course not. Just - don't let me down, Ciprius. I'm trusting my city to you; my people. My home. I hope you came prepared to prove you mean not to lose them.”

Ciprius nodded curtly.

“How long until they're through the first gate?"

"Sir." Hadvar interrupted again.

"Not long."

"Damnit. What's he waiting for?"

"Sir!"

"What?!" The Legate rounded on him, scowling.

"Sir, they've taken the first gate.”

"Why didn't you say so immediately?!"

"Sir, I tried." Teeth gritted, Hadvar reminded himself that tempers were all very short. The last thing that would help here was for him to start a fight with a superior officer. As much as it might be satisfying to punch this man in the face, it wouldn't be worth it. He'd take it out on the Stormcloaks when he got the chance.

"This is it! Time to see what these Stormcloaks are made of."

"The men are already regrouping. Move it, soldier. Spread the word to fall back. Go. Go. Go."

Hadvar saluted and ran back the way he had come, energy renewed. He heard Balgruuf's parting comment as he was heading down the stairs.

"Oblivion take them. Every miserable last one of them."


	33. Chapter 33

“What an amazing ruin. A maze of a ruin. An amazing maze.” Rumarin played with the words to keep his mind off the cold as they stood in the entrance. Straight ahead, the road continued on and upwards into the mountains before it would slope down again, forming the disused pass through the mountains and back toward Whiterun. 

On either side of them, however, staircases, buildings, arches, dragonheaded sconces, braziers, and the occasional trove of unlooted pots or chests stretched away and up over several uneven levels. The areas immediately along the roadside had been gone over by countless travelers and caravans in years past. But the rest... it was staggering. Neither of them had any idea of where to begin their search.

“We had best pick something and get started. I don't think this is a very good place to have a baby.” Rumarin tried joking. But in all honesty, someone could probably spend years studying this place and still not find everything. Somewhere off on the other side of the ruins, the howls and grunts of a frost troll where answered by another. Even more reason not to linger.

“Don't joke. I don't know what will happen if the Eye keeps growing.”

“Did anyone say where this thing might be found, maybe give you map coordinates?”

“No such luck. But, perhaps we can rule some of this out. Shalidor built the maze as a testing ground for mages. It won't be there. Nothing names the staff of Magnus as having been in his possession, and he seemed to like bragging about his power. So I think his laboratory is out, as well. According to the histories Urag Gro Shub loaned me before we left, the main ruins here are of a much older city. Bromjunaar; capitol of the dragon cults. It seems like it might be in there?”

“Lead on, then. Too bad he couldn't have left directions, 'This floor; death traps and magical whatnot. Basement? Draugr and cobwebs. Second floor; staff of Magnus, room 3, second shelf on the right.”

Cal snorted. “It would be nice, but then again, I'd be suspicious if anything were that easy.”

"Just once, I think I'd like it to be that easy."

They hiked up the long stairway, keeping an eye out for the trolls, to an immense and elaborate door that marked the entrance to the ancient city. Cal used the torc she'd been given and it groaned open on heavy hinges.

_No rust....thats odd.A result of the magic, maybe?_

Rumarin shrugged off his observation and followed her into the dark. The door ground shut, torches powered by centuries old magics flared to light the way. The place was definitely heavy on the use of magic. _These ancient Nords seem to have had no problems with mages. Maybe the current prejudices against it are the result of something...a lingering memory of the cults themselves or something that happened after?_

No sooner had they started walking forward, then skeletons rose from the ground to block their progress.

“Did I say something about things that are too easy?” Cal swallowed hard and backed against Rumarin. He summoned and nocked his bow over her shoulder as her hands came up, fire and lighting at the ready.

Her firebolt scattered the first skeleton to bits. The rest surged forward. Rumarin fired, nocked, fired again.

The stench of burnt bone rose around them.

Somewhere up ahead, larger, older bones began to pull together. Reassembled, the dragon opened its bare jaws and roared in challenge.

_You have got to be kidding me._

Cal and Rumarin turned to face this next, much larger, threat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all three people still reading this. I'm now caught up to all I have written. Don't know when I'll have time to write again. Work is exhausting and I have some health issues I'm dealing w rn. I'll finish this eventually, I just don't know when.


	34. Chapter 34

That most of Winterhold still stood was actually something of a marvel. The dusty, oddly crystalline corpses of the magical anomolies that had burst out to terrorize the town littered the streets. The walkway up to the college and the courtyard were scarred with the strikes of elemental based magic as wll as the marks of swords and arrows from the guards who had rushed to help.

Mirabelle was dead. So were two of the guardsmen who had been first to respond to the uproar. So was the archmage. So was Ancano. Although Cal thought he had rather gotten what he deserved for tampering with the blasted thing even after everyone had told him not to. For turning out to be a Thalmor spy, after all. And for trying to have her killed. 

The staff of Magnus, for they had discovered that artifact deep in the ruins of Bromjunaar, had been instrumental in suppressing the enormous surge of magical energy the Eye had sent out. Who knew how much worse the damage might have been had they not returned when they had. As it was, multiple funerals and more rebuilding was not anyone's idea of a success worth celebrating. 

The Jarl was furious. If he could have ordered it, the college would have been banished from his hold.

The only thing that had shut him up, besides screaming himself hoarse at Cal, Rumarin, Tolfdir, and all the rest, had been Rumarin telling him off and sending him back to his hall with what everyone agreed was a very impressive glare. There were times when being the tallest in the room had its advantages. He'd been able to back the stout Nord right out the door. 

That he was a pacifist to extent that he had trouble swatting flies....well, Korir didn't need to know that.

For his part, Rumarin had never been so angry. After all they had been through! The undead. The dragon, also undead. The halls full of traps, draugr, and the pit cage full of feral, half starved trolls leftover from who knows what depraved behaviors. The dragon priest, who had nearly killed both of them! And then, to top it all off, a snowstorm on the way back. 

To go to that length to find something, anything that might be of help only to return feeling it was too little too late and then to get yelled at on top of it all by an ungrateful ignorant shut- in who couldn't see the effort these mages went to on a daily basis to try and be nonthreatening, reassuring, friendly, and helpful. 

He'd lost his temper. 

It hadn't helped that Jarl Korir had been standing between him and the gate. All he'd wanted after all that was to get Cal home and put her to bed until Colette could have a look at her; she swayed on her feet, pale with exhaustion and looked about to faint. He had no idea what kind of energies she'd just been channeling. And she certainly hadn't been getting enough food or rest while they'd been fighting for their lives and then for everyone elses.

The staff was serving more as a walking stick now, holding her up.

He caught the elder healers eye and managed to communicate with a jerk of his head where they were headed. She nodded and headed inside to get her supplies.

Rumarin got Cal moving. They made a slow shuffle down the walkway and into the subdued and all but deserted village. Windows were drawn shut, streets empty, and only the trickle of smoke from the chimneys let on that anyone was home anywhere at all.

They made it home.

 _It still felt odd to say; home._ Although Rumarin was getting used to it. There was something to it, he supposed, building an association with comfort, safety, food, water, and rest, with one specific location. He found he didn't mind it as much as he had been worried he might.

Colette let herself in behind them, healers kit in hand. 

“Oh, what an awful day this has been.” She sighed. 

Rumarin immediately felt guilty; she had no doubt tended to the wounded all day. She might well be as tired as Cal. But it wasn't as if they had a lot of options.

“Can I get you anything to eat or drink?” It was a lame offer, given that they had only just returned themselves, but he was aware of the social obligations. 

“Tea would be lovely, thank you.”

He nodded, and headed downstairs to see what might still be edible.

Colette ushered Cal up to bed.

By the time Rumarin came up with some tea and few biscuits that he hoped weren't too stale, Cal was asleep and Colette was packing up her things.

“Well, she'll recover just fine. Overextended her magicka, a few times over the last few days, if I'm any judge.”

“Yes, she has.” 

“She's healthy as a draft horse, that one. Baby is fine,too. Starting to move around a bit. Everything is progressing normally, which, considering some of the things she gets up to, is a bloody miracle in and of itself. She's to stay off her feet for a few days, get plenty of rest and liquids. And absolutely no dragons!"

 _....baby._ He'd been so worried about Cal, he hadn't even let himself consider anything else. Her being pregnant had almost been an abstract idea, something to think about later. Always later. Now, hearing Colette say it, it was real. His throat felt tight.

“I'll tell her. Thanks,Colette. And, ah, my condolences for your loses today." It was trite to say but he decided it would be worse not to acknowledge it. Savros Aren and Mirabelle Irvine had been her colleagues, and possibly her friends, for decades.

She reached a wrinkled birdlike hand up to pat his arm, more strength in her grip than he would have guessed, and nodded, eyes tearing up. 

He led her back down to the chair by the fire and left her to her tea in peace. When she had finished her meager refreshments, he offered to walk her back to the gates; with the town on edge, it might be risky to let her cross alone; but she refused, insisting it would give her a few moments to clear her head. 

Instead, he prepared a thin chicken and leek soup and went back up to see if Cal might wake up to eat a bit with him. As he went, he kept an eye out for a good place to fit a crib. _Later._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feeling somewhat better; improvement is slower than I'd like, but thats life. In the meantime, my internet went out, because of course it did; so I got some writing done. Enough to finish the partial chapter I'd left hanging. Working outdoors 8hrs in the 90f temps 5 days a wk is seriously tiring. But I've got maybe two more months of that. And the net gets fixed next wk. I hope. Slow but steady, I think thats just going to be my mantra for this year.


	35. Chapter 35

"It's a desk job." Rumarin stated again. "Just what the healer ordered."

"This isn't right. Ten years from now, perhaps five, and I'd say yes. But not like this." Cal was lounging in bed, propped up with pillows. A book, abandoned reading, was on her lap."What was the Archmage thinking?"

"That he had found a worthy successor. I hope, for all our sakes, that he was not wrong." Urag spoke up from where he leaned against the wall near the balcony door. "The library and all its resources are at your disposal, of course."

"And you'll have all of us to advise you and help." Drevin spoke up. Several people jumped, having forgotten he was there, as he'd been rather quiet so far.

"Mirabelle was skeptical of admitting you. I think she worried you might bring unprecedented challenges. You certainly have. We needed the change. I'm just sorry it had to come about this way." Faralda was sitting in one of the rooms two chairs, legs crossed at the knee, showing off high leather boots with dark fur trim. 

"I didn't bring anything but myself. Some of what you say, it was in motion before I ever arrived."

"I meant no offense, Calpurnia. I only meant that new blood is a good thing. We've taken it for granted for far too long. I am curious to see what sort of Archmage you will make." The head of the destruction school bowed from the neck ever so faintly; not acknowledging Cal as a superior so much as indicating a willingness to allow things to proceed as they were.

The heads of all the schools were crammed into the bedroom to hold this impromptu meeting. The offer of Archmage was out, officially.

"I've decided to stay on, to offer my advise as well. It seems Skyrim is experiencing an increase in magical activity; dragons back from extinction, a dragonborn, artifacts long thought lost are resurfacing. I do not think it a coincidence that you were here when this happened." Quranir was staring into the fire, his orange and gold robes reflecting the light so that he appeared robed in flames. The psijic monk kept some distance, the only outward sign that his obliviousness to the suspicion with which he was viewed by the others was pretended. As one of the last people to speak to the archmage before his death, some were worried they had only traded one ill intentioned spy for another. 

"Cal, you just took on an undead dragon, its undead priest, and then helped stop an artifact from destroying a whole town. You can do this." Rumarin encouraged. 

"Your companion is correct." Sergius agreed. "While its true that some have seniority over you, we mostly don't have the time or the inclination for the job. It was Mirabelle who ran this place, in truth. Without her, it falls to us to choose and we've picked you. We've all seen how hard you work. You've helped most of us. Versatility and trustworthiness are important qualities for an archmage."

"And the people of Winterhold like you." Colette added, "You stand a better chance than many of us at mending the rift between the College and the city."

"We need to mend things." Sergius folded his arms across his chest and sighed. "Enchanting's the only reason anyone tolerates mages in Skyrim. And while it brings in a good bit of coin for the college, it might be nice to be welcomed when folks don't need me for something."

"Mirabelle should have been next in line. Tolfdir, this makes you Master Wizard, now." Phinis grumped.

"I know. I can only hope to fill some of the legacy she and Savos left behind in keeping this place running smoothly. But I concur that Calpurnia is an excellent choice." 

"There is certainly no shortage of work cut out to start, is there?" Cal shook her head in dismay. "I am sorry it is happening like this, too. I would have liked more time to learn, to train. But if you have all agreed, then I think I must accept. I have a few ideas on what we can do to improve things. And I look forward to working with you all."

Some minutes later, they had all filed out and Cal had gone back to her book; the pages hadn't turned, however. Rumarin felt it would be safe to interrupt. 

"Archmage! That's, wow, that's impressive. As titles go, it has more anagrams than most."

"Yes, thank you." Cal set the book back down and shook her head in confusion."Wait, what?"

"Anagrams. You know, words you can make from the letters of other words? From a-r-c-h-m-a-g-e you can get; eg march, if eg is the Imperial short for exempli gratia. There's also; rag mache, which I think would be like a fabric version of paper mache? Cage harm, which you've clearly already done, so very appropriate, a crag hem, a arch gem, arc hag em, which frankly, makes no sense. My favorite so far is ham grace. But it sounds too close to ham grease. Can't have room for error or confusion with these things. What do you think?"

"Can't you take anything seriously? This is....one of the most important things that's ever happened to me. Also, just so we are clear, you're _not_ calling me 'ham grace' or any of those others once I start this job. I want it to be a position worthy of dignity."

Rumarin's grin had taken on a devious twist.

"No! I mean it!"

He leaned over her, mouth against the curve of her jaw, skittering ticklish fingers down her neck to cup her breast. He nibbled his way to her earlobe, waiting until he felt her begin to relax into his touch before he whispered in her ear, "Ham grace..."

"No!" She pushed at his shoulder, head thrown back in helpless laughter. "You're horrible. Keep it up and I'll never have sex with you again." 

Rumarin fell back onto the bed, one hand clutching dramatically at his chest, the other arm thrown over his forehead. "What cruelest strike is this to wound me so deep. I shall be suffering henceforth and made finite by thy wit and arts." 

Cal's laughter continued. "What was that from? A play, I am guessing."

He rolled over to face her again. "Good guess. 'A Wake at Midwinter'. Its about a love triangle that takes place during a funeral. Pretentious, overly dramatic, and an hour longer than it should have been even after we edited out the most useless bits. I hated it, but I was the only one tall enough to play Pip. He was the corpse. The whole thing was a disaster; no one could remember their lines, so I ended up memorizing almost all of it and whispering to people when they forgot. Do you know how ridiculous that looks to the audience? They thought it was a comedy!"

She snorted and turned to look at him. "You played a corpse named Pip? It does sound silly."

"No anagrams, sadly."

She reached up and stroked a hand along his jaw, thumb pressing just under his bottom lip. "Poor you."

"Hmm." he murmured in agreement, kissing her.

When the kiss broke apart, he brushed her hair back from her face, just enjoying the moment and being able to gaze at her without interruption. 

Until she stiffened and caught her breath, one hand gripping his wrist and the other going to her belly.

"Cal? What is it? Do you need me to get Colette back?" Adrenaline spiked fear through his veins.

"No....it's...." She pulled his hand down and pressed his palm to a spot just in from her hip. 

He didn't feel anything at first. Then a sort of rippling sensation. It could have been her stomach growling except for being entirely the wrong place. Fear was replaced by awe as he realized what it was. Cal's eyes were shining, lip caught between her teeth.

"Hey....that's, wow." He scooted down until his mouth was level with his hand. "Hi. You thought ham grace was funny, too, didn't you?"

"Oh, no you don't." Calpurnia was laughing again. "Gods forbid you teach this child your sense of humor. I'll be outnumbered."

"We'll see." Rumarin muttered. 

They spent the rest of the day cuddled up napping, Rumarin's hand over hers over her lower abdomen.


	36. Chapter 36

Hadvar stood among the ruins of the city. Smoke still rose from rubble heaps and every so often the sound of debris collapsing, sliding, falling, could be heard. The shadowy figures of men and women strung out in a search line, staggered unevenly across the terrain, picked through what was left.

Early morning sun glowed, ever so faint and eery, from behind the pall of ash that dimmed the sky overhead. 

The battle had raged for the better part of four days. Advances, stalemates, retreats, successes and failures. The outer walls had fallen. Then the inner gate. They had stopped the Stormcloak advance at the stairs to the keep; the last defensible position. Infiltrators had been sent outside the walls to destroy the catapults. Archers and mages had returned fire. Houses had burned. Bodies were still being dragged off for burial as they were uncovered. In the end, it had come down to the people; ordinary farmers and shopkeepers grabbing up pitchforks, shovels, and kitchen knives, and joining in the defense of their home.

Hadvar had fought until his whole body was numb to the fatigue. Pushed beyond his limits, he had never been so tired as he was now. Yet he could not sleep. He just stood and stared, dead on his feet. So he stayed near the well and watched in silence as the survivors stumbled from their homes to begin the grim task of cleaning up. 

A cry went up from people along the road, a sussuration of whispers and regret. Balgruuf's own brother was being carried in on his shield. The body was brought to the Jarl, who stood waiting, blues eyes steel dark, cold and silent in blood spattered armor, at the foot of the stairs. The Imperial Legate opened his mouth to say something. Balgruuf raised a hand and the man fell silent. The other advisor, a small, mousy-demeanored fellow who looked like an accountant, bowed his head in respect and perhaps real grief, knowing better than to try and talk to the Jarl at present. The court mage pulled his hood forward to hide his face as he turned and climbed back up the stairs, ushering Balgruufs errant children back up to the keep and the housecarl who waited for them.

 _Children should never have to see the things we do._ Who had said that? It sounded like something General Tulius would say. His mind wandered. The Empire had won. But the cost had been so high; Whiterun would be a long time in healing. 

"Mead? You look like you could use a drink." 

He started at the sound of a familiar voice at his shoulder. Torvar, bloodied and soot smeared, stood there, holding out a flask. Hadvar nodded, took the offering and drank. The honeyed flavor coated his throat; recalling the summers the lot of them; himself, Ralof, Indara, Narri, Torvar, Aela, Ysolde, and the twins Farkas and Vilkas, had spent hunting, fishing, swimming, exploring, carousing, and generally causing havoc around the Hold before they had all gone seperate ways and fallen into seperate lives. He handed the flask back and clapped his old friend on the shoulder in thanks, still not feeling up to talking much. Torvar noded in understanding and shuffled off, draining the rest of the flask as he went. 

A slender dark eyed beauty with hair cropped roughly at her shoulders where it wasn't twisted into coiled braids, now frazzled and half undone, stepped over, offering him a healing potion. He shook his head, then did a double take. 

"Ysolde?" his voice sounded rough from all the smoke. And all the yelling. Two old friends in one day. On this day. It seemed strange, but not unwelcome after all the death strewn around them.

"Hadvar." She didn't smile. "It's good to see you are well."

He glanced down at himself, bandages wrapped here and there stained dark with splotched of blood and tinged with filth. Well was a relative term. He was whole and capable of standing under his own power. More than could be said for many.

"You, also."

Her dress was just as filthy and stained. There was a bruise on her jaw and a cut near the bridge of her nose. Her hands were scraped, dirty, and there was dried blood beneath her short nails.

They stood together in silence for a time before she reached down and took his hand, pulling until he followed. Four walls. A roof. A table and chair. A bed. Her house was tiny.

She smelled of sweat and smoke and herbs, as she'd been helping the healers gather supplies. She tasted like something stronger than mead. Maybe skooma? She'd always been curious about anything that affected the perceptions, what other cultures and realms used for recreation. The adventure and the lure of far off places she might never see in person. He didn't care, couldn't blame her at all given the circumstances. 

There was a half second of dissonance when he was surprised to find long thin limbs and Ysolde's lithe form under his palms instead of Cal's remembered plumpness. It was gone in a flash, the offered and taken comfort in an old friend taking precedence over the numb haze they both moved through to find each other.


	37. Chapter 37

"Has the Synod contacted us since?" Cal leaned back in the chair behind the desk, a massive ornate thing carved from the heartwood of a single tree. _Her desk_. Cold gray light filtered through the frost from one of the high half circle windows above. The rest of the faculty were seated about the office with coffee and pastries, food being almost as good a lure on them as it was on students.

"No, Archmage." Faralda sat with her hands clasped in her lap, on the edge of the soft leather sofa, an oddly formal pose given the informal nature of these meetings.

In the two months since Cal had taken over as Archmage, the place was improving. It was becoming evident in the better food, new books, cleaned up hallways, and the repair being done on the bridge. The dorms were warmer and had better lighting. 

Her idea to send mages out in teams to offer services for enchanting, powering minor magical artifacts for heating bath water and setting mage lights, performing healing, and other simple every day sorts of touches, for the people who wanted that sort of thing, had brought in more coin and allowed the students hands on experience. 

Opening the College doors once a month for prospective students and their families, historians, bards, and sometimes the curious, had also helped relations with the common people of Skyrim. There were plans to clean up the front gate and the courtyard garden come the warmer months. 

Cal's intent was to make it all more open, welcoming, and friendly, in exact opposition to the isolationist policies carried out by her predecessors. It was a change not all were comfortable with, but it was bearing fruit in the handful of new students and the overall increase in interest regarding magical services available.

The Hall of the Elements had been scrubbed of blood stains; the namesake elements of fire, earth, air, and water had been reinstalled in the forms of a statue holding flame, a burbling fountain recovered from storage, some potted plants, and a handful of playful wisps that floated about. Lectures still took place there, but the atmosphere of nature now drew students to the hall during their off hours to relax, meditate, and converse in small groups. 

Winterhold was improving as well. The Jarl still grumbled about magic, but after touring the facility and not being able to spot a single thing to point at in blame, and with new families and businesses moving to the area, he no longer dared to do it to Cal's face.

These once a month staff meetings, to bring issues together for resolution, and to catch up on each others projects and progress, were another of her ideas. Previously, instructors had free reign to teach however, whenever, and whatever, they saw fit with little to no communication between schools. They had only contacted the archmage if they had an extremely serious issue. 

Now, they had schedules, syllabi, and kept in touch with each other in regards to students who either needed some extra help, or who posed some sort of potential problem. Issues affecting the College as a whole were often the topic, such as today. 

Instead of Mirabelle's intense control of every little detail, Cal delegated and shared information, so everyone had a fair idea of what was going on at any given time. She was also present in a way Savos Aren had not been. No days upon days spent locked away in study, no distance or aura of untouchability.

"Does anyone know if Mirabelle or Savos kept any records about their correspondence?" Cal shifted to search a stack of papers off to the side.

"I doubt Savos kept anything. He tended to rely on memory rather than write things down." Tolfdir frowned. "Mirabelle, on the other hand, kept immaculate records. I'm sure its here somewhere."

"I think she was just waiting, hoping they'd take the hint and stop asking." Sergius started to set his coffee on a stack of tomes but froze at a low growl from Urag. He wisely set it on the table instead.

"Well, do we have any new information about the Eye to share with them?" Cal directed her question to Quranir.

"Not that I've been made aware of. These things take time. And it's not the only artifact the Psijics are responsible for at present." 

"Alright. Keep me posted if that changes. Does anyone else have any business to discuss?"

"I'd like to be able to put together an expedition back to Labyrinthian, if possible. The scrolls of Shalidor are likely to be among the artifacts present there, and I'd like to get them translated for our library." Urag, brushed crumbs from his beard. 

"Excellent suggestion. Put together a proposal. There must be some senior students who can assist. Make sure they know how to battle frost trolls and draugr."

"I'd be willing to assist as well. Shalidor was a legend among mages. Seeing his laboratory and maze first hand would be an experience. If you'll accept my help, of course." Quranir's expression was one of polite interest, but Cal could see he was trying very hard to stay on the grouchy Librarian's good side. A wise choice, given how much time the Psijic spent in the library.

"Of course, you'd be welcome. I admit I'm curious to see what you know of Shalidor."

"Actually," Cal interrupted, "This reminds me...what do you all think of opening an exchange program with other institutions? Something to think about for our next meeting."

"The last matter is this," Tolfdir handed Cal a scroll. "The invitation from both the Empire and the Stormcloaks to act as a moderator for the peace conference being hosted at High Hrothgar in a month's time. Apparently, requesting that the Dragonborn mediate was the only thing they _would_ agree on. So we're off to a good start."

"A peace conference? Last I heard the Empire was winning?" Cal's confusion was shared by the rest of the room.

"Peace would be good; I have little faith they will manage it." Colette looked up from her coffee. "If talking would have resolved things, this war would never have happened."

"Yes, well, they are running out of resources and men. If they win, it will leave them weakened. Ulfric knows this. So do the Thalmor. So, if he wants to win the long game, Tulius has to bargain in the short game. He made the offer after Whiterun when he held the position of most power. Ulfric, the stubborn goat, didn't accept right away."

"Peace would be wonderful. The roads are worse than ever and I hate to hear about families torn apart by this. If it is in a month, then I will still be able to make the journey, most likely."

"If that will be all, Archmage?" Phinis had a lecture coming up that he was eager to present.

The meeting adjourned, and instructors filed out in small groups, conversing together as they walked.

Cal pushed away from the desk and stretched. She didn't have anything on her schedule for this afternoon; she had cleared it intentionally.

The walk back to the house was biting, north winds scouring across the snow and hissing through the pines. Gulls and terns wheeled over the cliffs bordering the ocean, flying up against the wind, then turning to let the currents push them all the way back down the coast. It looked as though they did it for the sheer fun of it. She envied them a little. 

Archmage had its benefits, but she understood now why Aren had hidden himself away in his quarters for days on end, absorbed in his own research. The College was a deeper mess than what showed on the surface, and that part was bad enough. 

The work load had been heavier than expected, the answers slower in coming, the resolutions fewer than anticipated. The progress slower and less than satisfactory.

Dragon sightings had been reported in Falkreath in the woods. In the Reach, near the mountains, and down around Riften.

And now she was wanted to mediate a war....

It made her anxious to dwell on all the things she'd left hanging with her decision. Delphine had been irate. The Jarls hadn't been much better. _Irresponsible_. She'd mostly gotten used to hearing that. But she'd drawn a line; her family, such as it was or would be, came first. Eventually an uneasy balance had been struck. She wondered how much the dragons attacking farm holds and outlying forts had to do with the sudden interest in forging a ceasefire.

_One thing at a time._

They'd gotten the dragon in Riften after all. The guards had killed the physical body and they'd made the trip down so Cal could get the soul. 

She pushed through the front door, hung up her cloak, sat down to haul off her boots. It took more effort these days; she had never been thin, but at six and half months, her belly was beginning to get in her way. The house was quiet. Rumarin was probably at the Inn. Since he'd discovered the days when goods were delivered, he'd taken to having a late breakfast there in order to buy their weeks groceries before everything was sold out.

She had some time.

Downstairs, she put together a simple meal, leftover roast chicken with some herbs, a loaf of bread, some apples and cheese. A bottle of mead and plain water for her. 

Getting it all up to the little table they'd set up in their room was a hassle, but eventually a small picnic- like spread was laid out. 

She washed up, changed out of her College robes and into a dress, brushed her hair out, then spent agonizing minutes debating about makeup or jewelry. She kept it simple, a berry flavored lip stain and a bit of kohl around her eyes. The perfume she usually wore. And...the amulet she had bought when they had been down in Riften. She had managed to slip away long enough that she was sure Rumarin didn't know about it.

Which made her nervous to the point of feeling nauseous. _What if he says no?_

He seemed to coast through life a lot like those birds, going where he was pushed, taking the easy way, if possible. Not a fault, per se, but it made it difficult to know what he wanted for his future. She had tried asking questions, but his answers got more vague the more she pushed. That damned speechcraft of his. She'd actually had a nightmare at one point wherein he had turned out to already be married and the imaginary fallout had been awkward, to say the least. She'd woken up torn between wanting to punch him, and wanting to cry.

Because Cal knew what she wanted. And she didn't see the point in putting it off anymore.

Downstairs, the front door opened, Rumarins voice muttering curses over the grocery baskets being set down on the floor before the door set shut again and she heard him toss his coat over the chair.

"Cal? You home, love?"

"I'm home. Can I see you upstairs for a minute?"

_No help for it but to ask. If he does say no....well, better I find out how he feels so I can deal with it now rather than years from now._

She took a deep breath, swallowed her nerves, and turned to face the stairs.


	38. Chapter 38

_High Hrothgar._

Hadvar's head spun at the idea of it. Every Nord child was raised on tales of ancient order of Tongues and how the Greybeards kept their teachings alive up on that cloud buried peak. He, Vilkas, and Ralof had talked about making the pilgrimage when they were young. They never had. He didn't think anyone from Riverwood had. And now...

Peace. The word was a dangerous lure. It felt soft. Vulnerable. He wasn't sure if believed it yet. If he could dare to try.

But orders were orders. And Hadvar's orders put him in the honor guard for General Tulius and Jarl Elisif during the talks. A reward, supposedly. In addition to another promotion; the shiny medal emblem decorating his new armor.

The only thing he'd really cared about was the weeks leave he'd recieved with instructions to meet up in Ivarstead; he'd packed up everything he could think to take and gone home. 

He'd slept for most of the first two days. Then he'd opened all his mail, months worth piled up while he'd been all over everywhere. He'd nearly throttled the quartermaster when they had apologized and dumped the whole pile on him just as he was leaving. The concept of 'better late than never' really had its limits.

Most of it had been letters from family, rather hilarious to read with them sitting right there. But...Cal. Cal had written. Several times, saying she had something important to talk to him about. Her last letter had been seriously annoyed at not having heard back. 

The toss and turn of emotions at that; anger at the delay these had taken in getting to him, regret at how their paths had twisted so far apart so quickly, happiness that she had found the place she'd been heading and had settled in; more than settled if the rumors about the newest Archmage being Dragonborn were true. Wistfulness for what they might have had if things had gone differently. If their lives had been different.

And a nervous sort of eagerness because the most recent rumor was that the very same Dragonborn Archmage was going to be present for the peace talks; so he might get to see her again. Although he suspected what she had wanted to tell him was about being Dragonborn, and since rumor had already taken care of that, he hoped she wasn't mad anymore for the lack of a response. He could pretend to be surprised.

"Are those from a girl?" Dorthe crawled up on the chair next to him and stuck her tongue out.

"Careful, or your face will stick like that." Hadvar gave his young cousin the same nonsense reprimand he'd been given at her age. Dorthe was having none of it; she intesified the expression, crossing her eyes and tilting her head at an odd angle.

Hadvar sighed. "Yes, these are from a girl."

"Eeewwww!" Dorthe crowed, " Are they kissy mushy letters?"

"No." Which was true. So why was his face hot? "They are from Cal. I only just got them. She got mad that I didn't write back."

"That wasn't very nice. Are you going to write her back now? I can help."

"Maybe." Hadvar side-eyed the ten year old. He could only imagine how she might mean to help.

"She was here."

"What? When?"

"After mum said I couldn't help Pa with the forge anymore. I was crying and Cal's friend told some funny stories and showed me and Frodnar and Bethni and Keir how to juggle. Cal sold Pa those ebony gloves.

"Gauntlets." Hadvar corrected absently. "Who was her friend? Anyone I know?"

"Rum...something. I don't remember. He was tall and blond and an elf and he had robes like hers."

 _Someone from the College_. Hadn't there been some news about a suspected Thalmor operative getting killed up in Winterhold not that long ago? Hadvars' stomach twisted at the idea of Cal getting involved with anything related to the Thalmor.

"Was he her boyfriend, do you think?" Dorthe asked. "I thought you were her boyfriend?"

"I don't know. And no, I'm not. We're not talking about this." 

"Dorthe! Stop pestering your cousin!" 

At the sound of her mothers voice, Dorthe's face fell. "I have to go finish folding the laundry. Girls stuff is sooo boring."

"Sorry, little cousin. I have to fold laundry sometimes, too. It is boring."

"Hadvar, you shouldn't indulge her like that. Next thing you know, she'll get it into her head to be a soldier when she grows up."

Hadvar squinted at his aunt. "My direct superior is a woman. I've served with soldiers from all over the Empire; many are women. They serve with distinction and I'm proud to fight alongside them. Or are you really telling me if something attacked this house, that you would stay inside and scream while my uncle took care of it?"

"Oh, Hadvar, I didn't mean to offend. And of course I wouldn't. But Dorthe's so young. She doesn't know what she wants. I don't want her to make choices at this age that will put off her chances of making a good marriage later."

"You're not offending me, Aunt Sigrid. But Dorthe's a smart kid. Let her be a kid. The rest will take care of itself when she's old enough. Besides, there are plenty of people who would be happy to marry a blacksmith. A steady income's important for a couple just starting off. You should know that better than anyone."

Sigrid huffed in annoyance at his point.

"You know, Hadvar, that 'it'll take care of itself' attitude of yours is why you're still not married. While you're home, we should invite some folks over. Maybe those nice Imperial kids who run the store? Lucan and his sister Camilla, you remember. She might be few years older than you, but she works at that shop every day and is just chomping at the bit to get out of Riverwood. Or, what about that pretty red haired girl you used to chase after? The one who lives up in Whiterun now?"

Hadvar froze. He'd committed a tactical error; he had forgotten just how avid a matchmaker Aunt Sigrid could be.

_Pretty redhaired..._

"I didn't 'chase after' anyone...who...you don't mean Aela?"

"Yes, Aela, that was her name. What's she up to these days?"

"She joined the Companions some years back. She fights, and takes the bounty contracts on dangerous animals. And before you continue; she likes women."

"Oh. Well, that's probably out then." Sigrid looked down at her hands, seemingly at a loss. "Too bad Cal lives so far, or I'd invite her. I liked her. And don't even pretend you didn't. I know perfectly well what went on up in the hayloft. "

Hadvars face went hot and he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Aunt Sigrid...."

"I know, what about..." Sigrid was already on to her next possible dinner guests.

Hadvar, recognizing the moment called for a retreat, gathered up his letters and dove for the door.

"I just remembered, I need to go find a courier to check the rates for something." He threw himself out the door and down the steps where he ran smack into Alvor, returning from purchasing iron ingots; the full cart was parked next to the house for unloading.

"Whoa, slow down there, boy."

"Sorry, Uncle Alvor. Aunt Sigrid's gotten it into her head that I ought be married and I think she means to make it happen by dinnertime tonight."

Alvor's permanently singed blond brows drew down in thought.

"She hasn't got a list made, yet, has she?"

"She's making one right now."

Alvor nodded sagely, clapped Hadvar around the shoulder and led him back down the street to the tavern.

"Understand, nephew, I love my wife." He started in as soon as they got their drinks and space at a table opened up. "So I'm obligated to say that being married is no reason to panic and that your Aunt only wants the best for you. Now that that's out of the way...If you need to escape for a few hours, I can cover for you. So long as you're back by supper. And if, gods forbid, she actually finds someone to invite, be polite. She won't manage much in three days."

"Uncle.."

"No buts. Sigrid worries about your future. So do I," Alvor paused to blunt the confession with a hearty swig of ale, "but I'm not going to nag you about it while she's got that covered."

"I don't understand why you are both worried."

"You are my only sister's only child. We did our best to be your family after your parents died, but I think we're both afraid we've made a muddle of it. We've all had too much loss and grief. No one wanted that future for you; but in joining the military, you've found it anyway. We've seen it change you. Used to be the moment you were home, you were gone again; friends to see, places to go. Now? You stay in and sleep all day. You hardly talk to anyone. But growing old alone is no good either."

Hadvar swallowed too hard around a mouthful of ale; his throat ached sharply all the way to his stomach. He wished he were still small enough to go and hide under the porch with Dorthe. 

He didn't like to think of the years after he had moved in with his Uncle. To start, Alvor was only eleven years older. More of an older brother or cousin than the father figure he had tried to be. Then, those years had been marked with death. 

He remembered Alvor's first wife, Greta, who had given Alvor twin sons, both of whom had died, one at birth, and one in the cradle. Greta had died shortly after, never regaining her health or strength. Their graves had enlarged the family plot alongside Hadvar's parents, grandparents, and Alvor's other siblings; a brother killed by a bear while out hunting, and that brothers twin, who had drowned in the river as a boy. 

And then Alvor had met Sigrid, married her, and then Dorthe had been born. Hadvar had again become aware of the space he took up in his uncles home. When he'd come of age to be out on his own, he'd enlisted, knowing only that he wanted to travel and that he didn't want to work a forge all day.

He'd meant for his Uncle to stop worrying for him, then. To look to his own family. Maybe have more children. He understood it better now; a person never really stopped worrying for those they cared about.

"Uncle..I don't know what to say. Except, I don't mean to worry you. You're right; I have changed, I know that. I've seen things, done things. This war....I don't know what I want for a future anymore; if I'll even get to have one. But I don't think I'd make a very good partner for anyone just now and, I'd still like to try and find someone for myself if I decide I'm ready. I just don't think Sigrid will hear any of it."

"Never thought my own nephew would be sitting across from me sharing a drink and sounding like an old soldier. Although...You don't sound like those so terribly damaged by what they 've been through. No, if I had to guess....you sound more like you've had your heart broken, boy."

Hadvar went still, staring into his ale. He started to shake his head, deny it, but found himself frowning. _No. That couldn't be it._

"How can that be?" He asked his Uncle.

"You sure you haven't met anyone?"

Hadvar shook his head. _I didn't know her very long and things just didn't work out. I don't think that's reason to feel this way._

"A lot in this world can break a mans heart," Alvor stared off into the distance. "Grief, be it from failed love, loss of family, or of hope, even the state of the world sometimes can do it." He looked over at Hadvar then. 

"The state of the world...." Hadvar sighed heavily, images of Whiterun coming to mind. "Aye, that could be it." 

They raised a silent toast to the dead, finished their drinks, and headed back home. 

He'd apologized to his aunt that evening; Sigrid's matchmaking wasn't the worse thing he'd endured. Not by far. It hadn't mattered; she hadn't been able to come up with anyone 'suitable' and had let the matter go. He suspected Alvor had said something. Whatever the reason, he'd finished out his time at home in peace.

Now he stood in the bitter wind, snow stinging his face raw, gazing up at the immense, foreboding compound built in ages past by Jurgen Windcaller. A suitable name for someone who lived on a mountain top; Hadvar would have appreciated it if someone could have called the winds to calm down some. They had pushed and pulled at his body during the entire climb, the howling never stopped. He wondered how the monks stood it. But maybe that was part of the test of life here.

Behind him, he heard Elisif say something to General Tulius; his response was lost to the wind, only the sarcastic tone carried. 

Hadvar had been impressed by how little complaining Elisif had done during the journey. She was not a woman accustomed to physical hardship; he had expected more in the way of helplessness and whining.

She had born the trip like a true Nord, teeth gritted against the cold, quiet and determined.

Tulius had done the most complaining, surprisingly. Hadvar had found his admiration for the man was waning. A tactical genius he might be, but he could also be crass and demanding when patience was called for. The cold steep trails up to High Hrothgar had tested what little understanding of Nord culture the man had. He'd spent the rest of the time grumbling and swearing under his breath.

"Finally, we're here." Tulius stepped up and clapped Hadvar on the shoulder as he walked past, "And ahead of those Stormcloak bastards, by the looks of it."

Hadvar stared a moment longer at the view; the weirdly windsculpted snow drifts, the deep blue swath of sky, a shade he had never seen before since it was only possible at this altitude, and clouds drifting below, soft and harmless looking. It felt like an unreal place. 

Maybe peace could really be agreed to here.

Hadvar turned and followed Tulius and Elisif up the steps to the heavy front doors.


	39. Chapter 39

Rumarin was standing near the long, thin table of refreshments, scant though that selection was, and doing his best to stay out of everyones way. Surrounded by powerful controlling personalities, and with nothing to contribute, he felt it was the safest course. 

The rebel Jarl of Windhelm had arrived yesterday with his entourage; they had all taken their seats. 

The Empire's group had just arrived and were being directed to their side of the table. 

The Greybeards were not as interesting as Rumarin had hoped; silent and withdrawn, they very much seemed to resent their role in any of this. Their speaker, Arngeir, had a raspy tenor that set Rumarins nerves on edge, though he wasn't sure why.

Cal was seated at the head of the table, papers at hand. She had brought work from the College to go over during breaks. She had also opted to wear a simplified version of the Archmages long dark robes, one that shared similar embroidery with the restoration school. It was a subtle hint; Rumarin had been thrilled she'd thought of it. The cut, with a broad belt cinched below her breasts and over the top of her belly, emphasized her pregnant state. Her speechcraft might need more work, but she knew how to make a presentation. 

The visual message was clear; _I am a high ranking, very busy, very pregnant woman you've called away to one of the most remote locations possible to deal with your bullshit.Make this worth my time._

Gazing at her from across the room, a fierce wave of pride and love filled him up. Had the atmosphere of the place not been so bleak, he would have wondered if he were literally glowing.

 _My wife._

He was still in awe. Standing in the temple in Riften, stammering out nervous responses, terrified he'd forget what he was supposed to say; of all the lines to flub, his own wedding vows were not going to be among them. And they hadn't been. He vaguely recalled that there had been music and dancing, food and drink, and that his friends had been there but it was all a blur except for Cal. The flowers in her hair, her eyes shining, holding his hand, hyper aware of the new, strange, and wonderful pressure of the matching bands on their fingers.

How is it that the best things in my life to date have all been happening in the worst place I've ever ended up? Somebody's idea of a joke, there.

Arngeir began announcing the Imperial delegation; they filed down and took their seats. 

"General Antonius Marcus Tulius, Military Governor in Skyrim, representing the Empire."

"Jarl Elisif of Solitude, widow of High King Torryg."

"Ambassador Elenwen of Summerset, representing the Thalmor."

Rumarin listened politely right up until...

"Legate Hadvar of Riverwood."

He saw Cal's head come up; shocked expression covered quickly as professional dealings took precedence. It helped that Ralof chose that moment to scoff in derisive laughter over Hadvar's new rank, and draw attention to himself. 

Swallowing the mouthful of food he had at that moment was the hardest thing Rumarin had ever done in his life.

_Shit. He's here, of all places._

That they could not address one another or take any time to talk until after the conference meant the proceedings were a prolonged sort of torture for all three, albeit for different reasons.

Rumarin sat in the back with the three silent greybeards, observing but not involved. He glared daggers at the Nord, whose face he had never wanted to know, and glanced at Cal to check up on her ever so often.

It was a small and probably petty consolation, but Hadvar had very clearly not expected Cal to be pregnant and his stares were a mix of disbelief, anxiety, and misery. He was even ignoring the other fellow, Ralof, who had also been introduced as being from Riverwood. 

The bargaining began; normally the intense dynamic and the people-watching would have kept Rumarin enthralled. Several individuals at the table had excellent speechcraft skills, others not so much. It would have made for an entertaining spectacle.

As it stood, Ralof glared at Hadvar, Hadvar stared at Cal with puppy eyes full of hurt and confusion, Cal kept most of her composure and focused on the proceedings. Rumarin glared at Hadvar.

Tullius and Elisif glared at Ulfric and his general, Galmar Stonefist. Ulfric glared at Elenwen, who stared out the window in apparent boredom until she caught anything that infringed on whatever the Thalmor felt should be their property, then she jumped in with demands at the ready. 

Some latecomers interrupted what was shaping up to be the most uncomfortable room in the history of socialization, to be introduced as the only two remaining Blades, Delphine and Esbern. Once seated, they glared at Cal, thereby not alleviating matters any.

It would have made for great comedy. For an audience.

Forced to sit in silent observation as hours upon hours of arguments and counter offers, insults, accusations, and denials were bandied back and forth, borders were shifted, and deals were cut, Rumarin hated every moment. He had to bite his tongue on more than one occasion to prevent himself from snarking at some or all of them, and getting Cal in trouble. The childishness and self agrandizements being thrown around by grown men and women who should have known better; the time wasting idiocy of it all! These were the people in charge?! How many good people had died because of their selfish decisions?

At long last, sometime just before midnight, they managed to hash out a rough agreement both parties were willing to sign. A tenous peace would hold until the dragons were dealt with. After that, Ulfric made it clear that this would all be open to revisitation.

Threats both vague and not were uttered between various parties on their way to the areas cleared for guest quarters before they made the return journey over the next few days.

The room emptied save for three.

Rumarin stepped up just behind Cal's shoulder as she walked over to greet her former lover.

"Hadvar, you look well. A legate? Congratulations, I'd not heard." She bit her lip, tone not entirely friendly. One hand was clenched, but she made no move.

_So much for punching him in the face..._

"Cal." Hadvar's tone was flat, "You look...." 

He gestured at her belly. 

"I am. Are you going to say you didn't get my letters?" Her eyes narrowed.

It was like watching a cart crash in slow motion. The dawning realization that shifted his features slack, the horrible regret that shone in his eyes as he understood just how far wrong things had gone.

"Cal...I...Gods, I did but not until just before coming here...," He turned to Rumarin, as if only just noticing him, "I'm sorry, who are you?" 

Cal reached back and squeezed his wrist in reassurance. "This is...."

Too late.

"I'm sorry, we weren't properly introduced before. I'm Rumarin. Her husband."

" _You're married?!_ "Hadvar had turned the color of undercooked oatmeal. 

"Only since about a month ago." Cal corrected, as gently as could be. "I wasn't when you and I met."

Hadvar stumbled sideways to a chair and fell into it as if his legs wouldn't hold.

"Are you...Is...Am I..." He couldn't get the words out.

"Ru?" Cal turned to him and tried to squeeze his hand agian. " Could you leave us to catch up for a time?"

"Leave?"

His whole body fought against that; he stood frozen glowering at Hadvar, until she said 'Please?' and his resolve collapsed. He had no idea how he was supposed to navigate this scenario. 

"Fine." He fled the room, wishing for a door he might slam, but there were none here.

Cal drew up a chair closer to Hadvar's and sat down. 

" _Married..._ " Hadvar raised his head up from his hands to look at her. " I never meant for any of this...."

"Because I love him."

"Not because..?"

"No."

"Does he treat you well?"

"Yes. I would not have married him if he didn't."

Hadvar nodded a bit and said nothing. The silence stretched out for long seconds.

"When did you know?"

Cal's shoulders fell. "About a week before that first letter."

"You are sure that I'm..."

"Yes."

"Gods, Cal. How did this get so mixed up? I looked for you in Solitude for weeks! I worried about where you were and if you were safe!"

"You knew I would not join the Legion. I told you I wanted to study magic."

"Why was that mutually exclusive, though? You could have used your magic to defend Skyrim, we could have been..."

"Ugh, Hadvar. You still sound like you are trying to recruit me." Cal gave a little shake of her head.

"Sorry. I didn't mean....but I just can't figure out how we ever could have been together elsewise.Tell me you didn't feel it, Cal? There was a connection between us. The moment I saw you in that cart. Look me in the eyes and tell me you didn't feel it." He leaned forward, gripping her arm.

"Of course I felt it. It was why I wanted to bed you in the first place. But after Helgen, you could have left, gone anywhere you wanted. They never would have spent so much time looking for surviviors. But you never considered anything but going back, even then. You were not willing to sacrifice any part of what you wanted. Neither was I. What we had, it was one night. And it was really good. But not worth giving up everything I wanted for the rest of my life just to follow you. "

Hadvar's eyes were brimmed with unshed tears. 

"I still want you, Cal. I thought that in coming here, maybe seeing you again, we would get another chance at, I don't know, something. _Anything_. I wanted to know if what we had was anything more. But I can't just walk away from the military, I swore an oath. I made a commitment. And you have, too, I see. And I was not prepared for this..." 

"So, you are to stay in the Legion and I'm to stay at the College." Cal nodded, sniffing away tears of her own. "That is why I married Rumarin. You and I are too similar in what we want, and too similar in our stubborness to see it through."

Hadvar laughed at that, a sharp sound without humor.

"Yes. I suppose we are." He turned to her, expression earnest, "I'm sorry it took so long for your letters to get to me. But I'm here now, for a little while, anyway. Tell me? What can I do?"

"There's not much more to tell. I searched Bleakfall Barrow on a job for the court mage, and I found out after that about being dragonborn. Then a few weeks later, I found out about being pregnant. I tried to contact you and couldn't. Later, I met Rumarin and things progressed to where they are now. For the record, I did not know you would be here; I never intended for you to find out like this."

"I should have written." Hadvar lamented, "I didn't want to seem, I don't know, clingy. Stupid of me. I kept hoping you would show up; that we were fated to be. As silly as that sounds. Then it had been too long and I thought you had not written either, so it would be strange if I did, then. When I finally got your letters, I thought it was too late because what you wanted to tell me was just the Dragonborn part, and that I already knew. Soldiers are terrible gossips, if you didn't know."

Cal shifted around in her chair. It was past midnight; the deep chill of early morning was soaking in from the courtyards doors. She tuckd her feet up onto the chair, leaning over on one hip. The baby shifted around too, a kick and something that might have been an elbow, pressing against her insides.

"Shh. Go back to sleep." She murmured under her breath. 

Hadvar gave her a confused look, having overheard her.

"Give me your hand?" She held out her palm to take the one he hesitantly offered.

She pressed his palm to the most active spot. Hadvar's eyes went wide in wonder at feeling the movements. _His childs movements._

The tears fell openly this time.

"I want to be there, you know, when it happens. But I don't know if I'll be able to." He turned his hand over, catching hers in a tight grip. "You'll write? Please don't shut me out, Cal. I'll be gone a lot. And I know, I know that you're probably right when you say we would never have worked out. It's too late now, anyway. But I want to know what's going on, to help however I can."

"I'll write. We'll figure these things out.... Maybe you could help pick a name?"

"A name? Right. A girls name or a boys?"

"I don't know yet. But if its a boy, I'd like to name him after my brother, Henri. It doesn't have to be a first name, if you have another suggestion."

"Henri." Hadvar repeated it, as if studying the shape of the word in his mouth. "Aye. A fine name. I can live with that. So, girls names, then."

They talked until Cal's eyes were getting heavy and Hadvar couldn't stop yawning.

"Much as I regret to say this, I think it's time to turn in. Long trek down in the morning." Hadvar stood and helped Cal up out of her chair. Her legs had gone to sleep and she stomped her feet in annoyance over the tingling. 

"What time are you leaving?"

"Knowing General Tulius? Dawn, as soon as its light enough to see the trail. You?"

"In a few days. The Greybeards and I have some things to discuss and I can't push myself so much these days."

"When will I see you again?" Hadvar's face crumpled in worry.

"That is up to your schedule, I should think? I am in Winterhold most days, either at the College or at home. You will keep in touch this time?"

"Yes! I'll write every day." He hesitated for an instant before drawing her into an embrace, his arms tense and his body fever hot from emotion.

"I am so sorry, Cal." His voice was muffled in her hair.

"Why?" She pulled back until she could see his face. "I am not. This way, it works out for both of us, you see. You get your military, I get my college, and we both get to keep our promises to everyone. And we never made any to each other, so nothing is broken here. You may feel guilty about missing out on important moments, but between the three of us someone will be there for this child, always. They will not be left alone. We will figure the rest out, in time."

"Gods, I've missed your optimism." He cupped her chin in his hands and dared to press a final kiss to her lips before saying goodnight. 

Once he was safely behind the closed door of his room, he sank down to the floor, knees up, arms across, head down, too drained to think or to sleep.


	40. Chapter 40

Cal tiptoed into the room she shared with Rumarin. He was in bed, asleep. Or pretending to be. He was rolled too far to one side of the bed and not sprawled out snoring, so Cal suspected pretend.

She sank down next to him, curling against the warmth of his body. It felt distant somehow, either the cold had soaked more deeply into her while they'd sat and talked, or he was somehow pulling away from her on every level.

"Ru?" She whispered into the fabric covering his shoulders. "Are you awake?"

There was a moment when she felt him tense and knew he was; she thought he would stay still and refuse to speak to her. 

When he moved it was sudden, rolling over to bury his face in her neck, arms around her tight enough to restrict her breathing.

"Please don't send me away." His breath was hot against her throat.

"Send you....? You're not making any sense."

"You kissed. I saw it."

"You..then you must know his mouth was not open, and it was a farewell, and that I pushed him away after a second."

She felt the long heavy body clinging around her shudder just a bit.

"I want to believe that. I..."

"Rumarin." Her voice was sharp. "I have had a very long and trying day. And you are not making any sense, love."

"He said he wanted you back; he has that military title, family, he's _responsible_." Rumarin spit out the last word as though it tasted bad. "I'm just..."

She wound her fingers into his hair and tugged his head back, forcing him to look at her. Even in the deep shadows thrown by the candle nearly burned down, she could see his eyes were puffy from cyring.

"You are _mine_." Cal almost growled, a hot wave of possessiveness surging up as she lunged forward and kissed him. He tensed, surprised. She nipped at his chin, her nose rubbing against his. Another tug at his hair and he groaned, leaning his head back.The next kiss was hard, teeth scraping, tongue sliding between his lips to lick at the little aroused sounds welling up from the back of his throat. His grip on her had relaxed, hands stroking over her hips, her breasts, belly, and back, anywhere, everywhere he could reach, before tugging loose the belt that held her robes.

"You are mine until _you_ decide not to be or one of us dies. Have you decided not to be?"

"...No. Never." he whispered, licking the taste of her off his lips. He pushed at the fabric covering her, wanting it gone, wanting her.

"Then you are not going anywhere." She settled over him and together they made short work of the layers of clothing separating them. 

Sex with Cal was always fantastic, but that night it was something else entirely. She pinned his hands until he begged, left the impressions of her teeth on his shoulder, and dug her nails into his shoulders when she came. 

She was aggressive as never before, marking him in love bites and screaming his name, and it was hotter than he could possibly have anticipated it being. 

Sweat drenched and heaving for breath in the aftermath, he felt wrung out and utterly foolish for doubting her.

"Wow....that was..." He couldn't think of any words; his brain was too busy floating around in a post orgasmic haze. Utterly useless. Instead he flung out an arm and gathered her in to his side, shifting to face her better, one hand stroking lightly at her shoulder.

"I think we both needed that." She sighed and stretched like a cat. "I thought I would be too tired. Second wind, I guess. Can we sleep in tomorrow?"

"Yes. If you ever have any extra energy like this, you know where to find me. And I need to apologize. I shouldn't have come down to spy on you. I trust you, I just don't trust him."

"You said 'I want to believe it'. So, for a moment at least, you didn't. Why?"

Rumarin stopped petting her shoulder. There was a long silence before he heaved an unhappy sigh. "You never let me get away with anything; it's about something that happened before."

"Someone cheated on you?"

"I won't bore you with the gritty details. We'd been involved for years; lived together, worked on a lot of the same shows and projects, had all the same friends. People said we were a great match. I knew things weren't quite right, but I believed every excuse, every lie. Then one day, I forgot something and went back to get it; I don't even remember what it was. But there he was, balls deep in another of my friends. So I lost both of them at the same time. And he tried to play it all off as though I'd misunderstood." 

"I couldn't stay where we had so many memories and people in common; I went back to traveling, remembered my invite, and ended up here. So when you said I wasn't making any sense, I panicked, because it sounded like what he used to tell me. But it's never felt like that with you, like you're playing to an unseen audience at my expense."

"I'm glad you told me. I want to say I'm sorry for that happening but I'm not."

The expression on his face was caught somewhere between confusion and incredulity."O, ye of little sympathy."

"Because you might not have come here otherwise." She laughed and softened the comment with a kiss, slow and scorching. "And we might never have met."

"You know what, you're right. I should send him a gift basket." Rumarin grinned, a wicked edge to it, "Do you think fruit would be appropriately rotten by the time it gets to Cyrodiil? Maybe something with eggs..."

"Very. But please don't send anyone rotten anything on my account." Cal chuckled, nuzzling against his chest, half sexy and half sleepy. Which was also sexy. He was getting hard again, wondering how he might get her to scream his name like that again.

"You know, if they can hear us, we're probably keeping them all awake. They might fall asleep on their feet and slide all the way back down to Ivarstead."

"Do you care if 'they' hear us? Or do you care if _he_ hears us?"

"Fine." Rumarin sighed in defeat. "It's petty. I know. But, yes, that's what I hope."

"We have all had a very trying day. He is leaving by first light tomorrow. You won't have to deal with each other this time. Though, in the future, you will have to work it out. This was...stressful and emotional for all of us. I did not know he would be here or we could have had some plan for how to deal with it. And no matter what, there's to be absolutely _no_ fighting in front of the baby."

Rumarin sighed. 

"I can agree to that."

They slept in the next day. By the time they were both up and about, both delegations were gone; tracks through the snow the only evidence they had been there at all, and the winds made short work of those.


	41. Chapter 41

Life more or less went back to normal after the peace summit. With soldiers freed up on both sides, there were more people available to aid against the dragons which alleviated Cal's stress considerably.

Hadvar got more leave time and after stopping in Riverwood to see his aunt and uncle, he came up to Winterhold for a few days. He stayed at the Inn, but the three of them were able to set down some ground rules for future interactions and got a nursery set up. Hadvar and Rumarin accidentally bonded a tiny bit over their mutual fear of impending fatherhood and ended up getting drunk together on Hadvar's last night there. They'd probably never be friends, but at least they knew they could work together to support Cal and her baby without antagonizing each other. Hadvar kept up his promise to stay in touch, and at least once a week, letters went back and forth.

The day Cal went into labor, he was stationed somwhere outside Markarth, working on training some new recruits. 

It was Rumarin who held Cal's hand, mopped the sweat from her brow, and ran to fetch things for Colette. He was the one who sat up all night and well into the next day while she groaned and panted and strained, bringing her child into the world. He was the one Colette showed how to cut the umbilical cord. And afterward, he was the one the squalling newborn girl was handed off to, cleaned and wrapped in a soft blanket. 

Colette insisted it was one of the smoothest deliveries she'd ever presided over. If a day and a half of pain and struggle were good, Rumarin didn't want to know what a rough delivery entailed. He hoped he'd never find out. Once mother and baby were clean and resting, the healer took her leave, letting the new family get to know each other.

"She's perfect." Cal grinned. 

"No, she's pretty perfect. But I say that not knowing anything about babies. She's so tiny." Rumarin marveled at the itty bitty finger nails and doll like face. 

"She needs a name."

Rumarin let Cal take her daughter more fully into her arms and went to grab the list of names Hadvar had suggested off the shelf. In the months since he'd sent it, they hadn't been able to decide.

He began reading through it. Cal still had objections to most of them; too short, too masculine, too Nord.

"Well, she is a Nord, on her fathers side." Rumarin reminded her. 

"She's also Breton and Altmer on mine. Our names are prettier. She should have a pretty name."

Rumarin snorted. He couldn't argue there. Some Altmeri names read like books of poetry unto themselves. Bretons liked a lot floral references. Both very romantic cultures. Nord names tended to be two syllables with heavy consonants and low, rolling vowels; strong sounding names, but lacking the whole of this baby's heritage.

"What about this one? Catelyn? That sounds Breton, but sort of follows the Nord pattern." 

The baby yawned and blinked open her eyes, a blurry indistinct shade. They were shaped like Hadvar's. 

Cal stared at her daughter and fought back a yawn of her own. "I think she likes that one. I do too. Catelyn, then. What do you think about Hadvar's mother's name for her middle name?"

"Why are you aking me? That's a decision you two should have made."

"I know. I never actually agreed when he suggested it. But now, I think, it suits her."

"Then go with it."

"Catelyn Ingrid. Welcome. I'm so glad I get to see your little face, finally." Cal kissed the soft down of newborn hair on top of her daughter's head. 

"Me, too. Hi, I'm your step dad. I'm the one you love to kick while I'm sleeping. You have another dad, too. He couldn't be here today. I'm going to go write to him soon and brag all about how cute you are and how I got to hold you first and everything." He reached out one finger, his hands suddenly seeming huge and too clumsy to be safe around such a tiny fragile thing, and stroked her cheek. Catelyn turned her head, heartshaped little mouth making sucking motions.

"Are you hungry, little one? I am, too. Ru, I know you're tired and we've both been awake all this time, but could you...?" Cal shifted her daughter to her breast. It took a few minutes of shifting positions and getting her to latch, but a slight wince on Cal's face showed success.

"Of course. But we get some sleep after this, right?" Rumarin kissed his wife's hair, the texture roughened from dried sweat, and went down to the kitchen to figure out what would make a light snack for them before they tucked Catelyn into her crib and tried to get some rest. _There are probably going to be a lot of late nights like this._

And maybe he'd get started on that letter.

But probably not until tomorrow. Or maybe the day after that.


	42. Epilogue

Cal pushed open the door and dropped her satchel of scrolls and books on the floor with a groan. She was exhausted. Who would have predicted that after defeating Alduin all those years ago, arguing with politicians and mages from the Synod all morning would have done it in for her so badly. After reaching a stalemate in their deliberations, she'd called a half day, to give tempers and egos some time to simmer down; her own not withstanding. She cringed at the thought that she would have to go back to it tomorrow.

"Ru, are you home? Anyone?" 

No response.

The house was quiet. Too quiet. 

With a soft 'woof', Meeko, their dog, heaved himself up off the floor and padded over to greet her, shoving his nose into her hands for petting, before he circled back around and found a new spot to stretch out on the floor again. Someone had tied bits of pink ribbons into his fur. Cal sighed. The girls must have been playing 'princess' again. She or Rumarin would have to brush all that out later. At least he didn't need a bath, like he had after they had gotten into Ru's war paint.

Looking around, she spied rolls of scribbled up parchment and colorful sticks of charcoal and wax scattered in front of the fireplace. Some plates had been left out; they had probably held the leftover remains of lunch but which had been left on a low table and therefore licked clean by the dog. One was on the floor. 

Meeko gave her an 'innocent but guilty' dog look.

"At least you tried to clean up after them." Cal rolled her eyes. Meeko thumped his tail on the floor in agreement.

She headed downstairs to check their rooms next and to grab an apple off the counter in the kitchen. She'd missed lunch. The childrens room was a disaster area; clothes, books, shoes, toys, and blankets were strewn everywhere. It looked as if someone, or more likely, several someones, had been jumping on the beds. Rumarin was never as strict with them about chores as he could have been. 

It was one of Catelyns biggest complaints about spending time with her father, as well; Hadvar always made her do her chores. 

She finished her apple and continued following the trail through the house. One of the tables had been turned into a blanket fort. A pile of books had been left on the floor inside. Bits of armor had been taken down off the stands for a game of 'dress up'.

Cal grumbled as she picked up a pair of gauntlets she'd nearly tripped over, setting them up on the table. More dirty dishes. A sock. A half eaten cookie the dog hadn't found yet. 

The trail led upstairs.

Cal frowned. Their bedroom was largely off limits to the kids. What had they gotten up to today while she'd been gone? And where were they hiding? If their room was in any similar state to the one downstairs...

The room was not a disaster, as she had feared. It was full of her errant family. Rumarin was stretched out on the bed, sound asleep and surrounded by all four children. She'd come home in the middle of nap time.

Catelyn; newly thirteen and still torn between being a kid and growing up, had opted for the former and was cuddled up against her step father and half buried between her younger sisters; Lyria, who was taller, and Tande, who had a thumb in her mouth, her hair sporting some of the same pink ribbons as the dog. Bran, the baby still in diapers, was tucked up against Rumarins chest, one chubby little fist still clinging to his fathers shirt. 

Cal's irritation melted. She didn't love her husband for his organizational skills, strictness, or punctuality, or for being a neat freak, because Divines knew Rumarin was none of those things. She loved him because of his heart and his gentleness and because he was a good father to this odd brood of theirs; dragon and elf blooded children who had quick tempers and quicker minds and whose inquisitive natures sometimes landed them in trouble.

She leaned down and kissed each of her sleeping children. Catelyn stirred and mumbled. Rumarin cracked open one gold eye and murmured a sleepy greeting. She kissed him, too.

Then, she settled in on his other side, where there was still a small shelf of bed available, and relaxed. She heard Meeko's nails clicking on the stairs as he followed her up, snuffling around the room until he flopped down by the fire with a huffing doggy sigh, just wanting to be near his family.

The mess downstairs could wait. Sometimes a nap really was the best idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....And they lived happily ever after because....fluff. 
> 
> Alright. Calling this one done. Thanks to everyone who stuck this out to the end! You guys are awesome!

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know where exactly this little fic is going or how many chapters I'll get out of it. Rumarin is harder to write than I was expecting, given that he has basically no backstory.  
> I'm also not sure abt the rating rn....I haven't decided how much smut, if any, I might be adding. Went with M so I don't have to worry abt possibly raising it later.  
> Cal is mine. Rumarin belongs to his creators: http://3dnpc.com/  
> Although, if you searched out those tags, you probably know that already. : )


End file.
